


Tell Brave Deeds of War

by chaserzachsmith



Series: Generally Useless Ravenclaws [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dumbledore's Army, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9525716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaserzachsmith/pseuds/chaserzachsmith
Summary: Ravenclaws aren't meant to be rebels, but then again nothing else this year is normal.





	1. The Learned Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised in 2018 and finally getting updated on here. I made a few narrative choices in this fic that I regretted a few months later and I've decided to finally eat my pride and change it.

Michael Corner is not a stranger to keeping his head down. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, stares at the floor a few feet in front of him. The Death Eater is rooting through his trunk, and Michael feels his fingers twitch, if only because it had taken him a good two hours to fold everything and pack everything until everything fit just right.

Michael tells himself he is the son of two halfbloods. He has nothing illegal. He has straight O’s and E’s. He has nothing to be afraid of. Not yet.

The Death Eater stands up, kicks his trunk, and tells Michael that he's passed inspection. Michael mutters thanks, kneels carefully and starts the tedious task of refolding, repacking.

Terry Boot has all his things, apart from his cat, in a backpack, because his mother had woken him at three in the morning and told him to run. He'd packed the bag months ago, after Dumbledore's funeral, packed it with healing potions and a few books and two changes of clothes and a bag of hash and Weasley products. 

The Death Eater rummages through all of it, even checking that there's nothing in the rolled-up socks. He throws the empty bag at Terry when he’s finished. "Couldn't afford anything proper?"

Anthony's parents had offered to lend him a trunk; he'd refused it.

Terry licks his lips nervously and kneels to shove everything back into his bag, picks up his cat. His parents would tell him it isn't worth a fight; he gives the Death Eater a polite nod, and hurries toward the castle.

Anthony Goldstein watches the Death Eater closely, winces when the Death Eater finds his yarmulke in his trunk and frowns at it, flipping it over and over.

"What is it?"

Anthony shrugs.

The Death Eater snorts and tosses it back into the trunk. "If it's some Muggle talisman, the Carrows will find it," he warns.

"Noted," says Anthony, a bit higher pitched than is dignified.

* * *

  _A learned man came to me once._  
_He said, "I know the way, - come."_  
_And I was overjoyed at this._

* * *

It's surreal, seeing Snape in the chair that had been Dumbledore's for so long. They sit through the Sorting, and then Professor Snape stands up and gives a long, tedious speech on the new rules. It's the sort of thing that they should be concerned about, which means it's the sort of thing that Terry's making light of.

"Any students found out of bed after eleven PM not on school business," he says, and Terry mouths the rest of the sentence with him. "Will be given detention."

"Any students who are found in possession of the propagandist publication 'The Quibbler' will be—”

"Given detention," whispers Terry. Michael shoots a look at Luna Lovegood; she's sitting a few feet down from them, neatly folding a napkin into charming shapes. A swan, now. A flower. Next to him, Anthony is writing the rules down on a notepad, one hand knotted in his hair nervously.

 _Tosser_ , thinks Terry fondly.

"And, as always, the Forest is forbidden for all students to enter, and any students found outside the grounds at any time will—”

"Be given detention," says Terry, now louder than a proper whisper. Padma glances over at him and Michael swats him on the shoulder.

“You realize what they've done,” whispers Anthony, as food appears. His voice is overwhelmed by the immediate swell of voices. “They're restricting outside sources of information or news, they're forcing everyone to take Muggle Studies, they're searching the mail—”

“Yeah,” says Terry, and he helps himself to a generous serving of potatoes. "They want us to start buying into their anti-Muggle shit."

“Propaganda,” says Anthony. “It’s propaganda, that's what it—”

"They can't change our minds for us,” says Michael. "Come off it."

Terry shakes his head rather than add to the conversation, and they all finish their meals in relative quiet, as though they've said everything that needs to be said, even though they never have. Anthony ditches them to help usher the first years to the Tower, and Terry and Michael head to their dorm alone.

Kevin Entwhistle is Muggleborn, Michael remembers, too late. He wonders if Kevin is in Azkaban. Or dead, or on the run. He shoots a look at Terry, who's frozen staring at Kevin's bed, like he's just remembered too.

Stephen Cornfoot shows up a minute later. “’Lo,” he murmurs, and he flips the lid of his trunk and gets his pyjamas out. Terry gets into bed without even changing. Anthony comes in a moment later and drops his Prefect badge on his pillow as though it's burning him.

“Professor Flitwick wanted to talk to everyone before bed,” he says. Terry smacks at his bedside table until he finds his glasses.

Professor Flitwick gives them all a long look, considering them. Ravenclaws are sitting on tables, on the arms of chairs and sofas, piled around the room. There are not enough of them to pack the room, but they sit uncomfortably close together anyway.

“You all know what the risks of this year are,” Flitwick says, his high voice unusually grave. Nobody responds; Michael and Anthony both glance at Terry. Terry's parents are dead. Or in Azkaban, or on the run. They can't say for sure. Terry shifts uncomfortably.

“It's not in our blood as Ravenclaws to rush headfirst into danger,” says Flitwick. He had to stand on a table to be able to see everyone. “But it is in our blood to think for ourselves. Don't let our new teachers, or anything else, decide what you believe. Use your intellects. Do your own research. This year will be dreadful, we all know that. It's up to all of you how you decide to react.”

Michael and Terry look at each other, then at Anthony. None of them would ever claim to be brave. They are all wondering the same thing: what, then, will they decide?

* * *

_Together we hastened._  
_Soon, too soon, were we_  
_Where my eyes were useless,_  
_And I knew not the ways of my feet._

* * *

Ravenclaw seventh years don't have a class with either of the Carrow siblings until the third day of term. By that time, though, the students who have had Muggle Studies or Defense Against the Dark Arts have already managed to spread about fifty different stories about the Carrows, some of them conflicting wildly. The Hogwarts rumour mill works with unbelievable speed.

Muggle Studies is a double lesson with the Hufflepuffs. Carrow gives them a frightening speech about Muggles; the few of them who steal magic, the way Muggles would kill them all if they could, how they're useless alone but dangerous in a mob.

The stories say that Seamus Finnigan was slapped, that Ginny Weasley received detention. That the Carrows yell at students who do nothing wrong and threaten students who say anything out of turn.

Terry shoots a look at Anthony, who is taking careful notes, twisting his hair around his fingers with his other hand. Terry glances to the other side at Michael, who is slouching in his chair but watching and listening closely, eyes narrow, mouth slanted doubtfully.

Slander disguised as indisputable fact. It's terrifying.

Nobody dares to rebel. They are not Gryffindors.

But Anthony explodes the moment they are over the threshold of the classroom. “Utter shit.”

Terry nods and keeps pace, putting one hand on Anthony's elbow warningly. They are in earshot of the classroom. “I know, mate. Keep it—”

“People can't steal magic,” says Anthony, whose mother is a Muggle. “Muggles aren't subhuman. Muggles aren't _beasts_.”

Padma shakes her head. “Be careful, Anthony,” she says.

Michael puts his hands in his pockets and keeps step with Anthony. Says, quietly, “You have to have expected this.”

He had, really. He shakes his head, looks sideways at Michael. “It's still wrong.”

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts is, if possible, worse. “We're not learning defense,” complains Anthony. “We're learning about the Dark Arts.”

“What did you expect?” Michael says, unhelpfully.

Anthony snorts. He is shaking. In anger, maybe, or in fear, or some combination of the two.

“Do you guys remember the DA?” Padma asks them. She has pulled them over to the corner of the Common Room. “Fifth year?”

“Yeah,” says Michael. 

“Parvati says that they're thinking about restarting it. They're going to hold a meeting,” says Padma, lowering her voice and leaning in.

“They?” asks Michael. Harry Potter isn't here this year, and neither are Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger. It hadn't been a surprise to any of them.

“Ginny Weasley, apparently,” says Padma, then shoots a wary glance at Michael, who had dated her for over a year. He adopts an aloof expression and Padma continues. “My sister says that she and her friends are restarting it.”

“Because never mind detention,” says Terry. “Let's get thrown in Azkaban instead!” 

“I mean, it'd be useful,” says Anthony reasonably. “We aren't going to learn anything good in Defense anyway.”

“Are you daft?” says Michael. “Terry's right. This isn't about passing our OWLs with good scores. Do you really want to risk it?”

“Yeah,” says Terry, to Michael’s surprise. Michael raises his eyebrows at him and he shrugs. “I mean it's the least I can do. Mike, people are dying—” He cuts himself off at the same time Michael does; he's been doing very well at not thinking about that.

“Exactly,” says Michael, oblivious. “Do you want to be one of them?”

* * *

Michael has done one thing in his life that can be properly counted as rebellious: he joined an illicit study group at fifteen. The situation then was dire, he'd thought. His OWLS were at stake and a tyrant ruled Hogwarts. He sits in the Room of Requirement, turning the counterfeit Galleon over in his hands.

The situation is dire. The world is at stake and a Death Eater rules Hogwarts. He wonders if this means it's time for another act of rebellion. He's about due, anyway.

Ginny has her arms folded, Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom flanking her like mismatched bookends. Michael avoids looking at her directly. He is not bitter about their breakup, but it certainly wasn’t amiable.

“You all know why we're here. We're here because You-Know-Who has taken over the Ministry and the school, and we need to fight back.” Ginny isn’t particularly imposing, but just now she looks older than sixteen, determined and fierce. “This isn't about homework or exams anymore. This is about standing up for what's right. If anyone wants to leave, I don't blame you. All I ask is that you don't tell anyone.”

“What, that's it?” asks Seamus Finnigan from the far left. “We're staking everything on the hope that nobody here is going to tell?”

“This isn't the sort of thing that gets us put in detention,” says Ginny. “This gets us expelled, and once we leave school, we lose the protection we have as students. I trust everyone in this room. I don't think anyone here would wish that on anyone.”

Michael tips his head back. That’s a stupid idea if he ever heard one. He hasn't got it in him to stand up to Death Eaters. He wonders if his friends do, either.

He’s a Ravenclaw for God's sake. He does not pride himself on his morals, or his bravery, or his selflessness, or anything like a spine. All he has is morbid curiosity. He knows what's right and what's wrong, or at least he thinks he does. He doubts he has it in him to stand up for it.

Ginny tells them that there will be another meeting in three days. Three days to think about it, and if anyone decides they don't want to stay in the DA, they can leave then, no harm done, no judgement. With that the meeting is over. Everybody leaves the room in clumps. Tiny clumps—there are so few of them left.

“I don't like this,” says Michael, the moment they've crossed the threshold. “It stakes too much on us being able to keep quiet.”

Terry and Anthony agree. They walk in companionable silence for a little while. Terry rubs one hand over his face and almost knocks his glasses off.

“I mean, they're Death Eaters,” says Michael. “Who's to say they aren't going to _do_ things for information?” He is thinking about Amycus Carrow, and the nasty list of spells he’d defined on Friday.

Terry makes a pained face and Anthony shoots Michael a warning look. Michael catches the hint and drops the subject.

He isn't sure what it is that drives him to rejoin Dumbledore's Army. Perhaps it's that terrible curiosity every Ravenclaw possesses- what happens to him if he does? what happens to them all? what can they do? Perhaps it's his NEWTs. Moral quandaries aside, he doesn't trust a Death Eater to teach Defense worth a damn.

Perhaps it's his friends' influence—they’d done it right away. They're both good people and perhaps Michael wishes he was too. Or perhaps he’s a good person too, somewhere.

* * *

_I clung to the hand of my friend;_  
_But at last he cried, “I am lost.”_

* * *

[Poem: _A learned man came to me once_ , Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading.]


	2. The Witnesses

They may have been among the few (only thirteen, imagine that) members of the DA who were members before, but they are not among the DA members chosen to test the metaphorical waters of Hogwarts discipline on September 14. Instead, they sit up in their pyjamas in the Common Room and wait for Luna Lovegood to come back.

“I still don't see the point of it,” says Michael, who is squashed into an armchair with Anthony, watching as Terry soundly beats Anthony at chess. It's been explained before, of course, but Michael is desperate for a conversation and willing to start an argument to get one.

Terry, patiently, scoots a knight around the board to start beating up Anthony's queen, by now used to Michael's needling. “It sends the message that the Carrows won't have a docile, submissive group of students, and shows them that there's resistance. It's a symbol. Of hope. And resistance.”

Anthony gapes at the chessboard. “I didn't see that one coming. Was that a legal move?”

“Yes, of course,” says Terry, affronted. “See, one two three down—”

“It's not going to be a symbol of resistance and hope if they find some poor bloke to rat us out and we all get expelled and arrested,” says Michael contrarily. “Tony, take his rook.”

“What?” says Anthony, eyeing his side of the board suspiciously.

“The rook,” repeats Michael. “There. With your bishop. The other bishop.”

“Hopefully, they won't be able to catch anyone who did it,” says Terry. “That's why there were so many backup plans and precautions.” He shoots a glare at Michael as Anthony obediently moves his bishop.

“Precautions can fail,” says Michael.

* * *

Despite Michael's dire warnings, the precautions do a good job of protecting the five DA members responsible. Terry stops just inside the Great Hall, leaning up on the doorframe, and beams, because the lettering is legible enough for him to read and there is a definite shift in the atmosphere of the Great Hall. It's an electric kind of glee, the kind that makes you uneasy.

“It's brilliant,” says Terry giddily. Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting.

“Do you reckon Snape still remembers everyone who was in the DA last time?” Michael asks. “They've got to have record somewhere. I'd be shocked if they didn't. At the very least there are detention records—"

“Lighten up, Mike,” says Terry. “Worry about it later.”

“Nobody else is worrying about it,” says Michael. “Might as well do it for the rest of you idiots.” It's true; he seems to be the only one here concerned, but that's because they are early for breakfast and the only other people here are some Gryffindor fourth years and a Hufflepuff third year. They take their customary seats and wait. 

When he arrives, Professor Flitwick shoots them a look of exhilarated fear. He knows, thinks Michael. Professor Flitwick, at least, remembers them as DA kids.

The Great Hall fills up. Anthony shoots looks at the culprits when they enter. They don't look inherently suspicious, but they're also the ones who are likely to be suspected: Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbott.

Professor Snape is among the last to enter the Great Hall, with the Professors Carrow flanking him. He doesn't glance twice at the slogan on the wall, just walks down the centre of the room, cloak trailing behind him, and takes his place at the front.

“You have all doubtless noticed the appalling lack of regard shown to this school,” he says, gesturing to the graffiti. “If any student has any knowledge about the perpetrators of this act of vandalism, I advise them to inform me now.”

He waits for ten seconds, ten excrutiating seconds. Anthony glances sideways at Terry and Michael as they both give Luna Lovegood a surreptitious look.

Subtle. They’re both idiots and always have been. But in truth, it doesn't matter at all, because Snape and the Carrows are not watching his friends. Why would they be?

“I thought as much,” says Snape. “As nobody seems willing to comply with school ordinances, I am left with no choice. From this moment, all student organizations and clubs are to be disbanded.”

He pauses for a moment to let it sink in, and then a Gryffindor says with an air of righteous indignation, “You can't ban Quidditch!” He’s joined by a clamour of protests.

“Silence,” says Snape, as though he’d been waiting for it. “In addition, this school shows lax discipline practices. The Professors Carrow will henceforth oversee all discipline in the school, as authorised this morning by the Ministry of Magic. Any teacher found assigning private detentions,” and here his gaze moves down the staff table to his right, then his left, “will be removed from their position.”

Almost immediately, students start whispering to each other; Snape allows two seconds of panicked hissing before he says again, deathly calm, “Silence.”

The room quiets down. “I advise you,” says Snape, “not to test the Carrows.”

* * *

There's a day of mutinous calm. Very few people dare to provoke the Carrows; most of the school has decided to listen to Snape for once. Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood whisper together at lunch, and Hannah Abbott tells Anthony, on Prefect duty that night, that she thinks they plan to test the Carrows.

“How?”

“Mouthing off,” says Hannah. She catches his dubious look. “They're Gryffindors, what do you expect?”

Anthony can’t argue with that. Brainless Gryffindors. He pokes his head into a classroom, mostly as a cursory gesture; he and Hannah don't expect anything on these patrols. They are almost three weeks into the school year; they have yet to find a single student out after curfew.

The next day is Friday, and they have Dark Arts. Just the seven Ravenclaws left in their year and Amycus. He is already in a foul mood when they enter; he snaps at Michael, asks Morag what she thinks she's looking at, calls Terry a stupid Muggle-loving fairy.

“I resent that,” Terry whispers to Anthony, and then leans away quickly when Amycus snaps at them to shut up and listen. His glasses slide down his nose; he replaces them. Anthony raises his eyebrows at Terry, who mouths “I'm not stupid.”

* * *

 _If there is a witness to my little life,_  
_To my tiny throes and struggles,_

* * *

“Sit down,” says Professor Snape. “You know why you're here—”

“Yeah,” says Terry, sitting down uncomfortably. He's been to these meetings every year, but usually they were with Dumbledore, who offered him candy and asked him nicely to sit down and joked about how old he was getting.

Speaking of Dumbledore, there's a portrait of him just behind Snape's desk. Terry gives it a long glance; it seems to be asleep. It's just over the glass case with its long, silver sword.

“I've discussed your disability with the new teachers,” says Snape. “And the nature of your accommodations.”

Terry's accommodations had been acquired illegally. They're charmed to be powerful; if someone with proper sight were to wear them, they would reveal the most minute details of anything, down to individual threads in fabric, or cracks in bricks yards away. For Terry, who is almost completely blind without, they only manage to give him limited vision. Enough to tell faces apart at least.

The Ministry still has no idea what happened to those Auror-grade Enhanced-Vision Glasses that had gone missing twenty years ago; the staff of Hogwarts School (except Umbridge, who hadn't been told) had decided it wasn't their responsibility to tell the Ministry. Terry had worried, when they'd searched him, that they'd find them and arrest him, but they hadn't even blinked twice at the glasses. He supposed that was the benefit of stolen Ministry property.

“They've been told that they're not legal for you to own, of course,” says Snape. “But, your parents being who they were, I doubt it was a surprise.”

“We can’t all be rich, sir,” says Terry pleasantly. “Who would the Ministry oppress?”

Snape is unimpressed; his lips press together. “Careful, Boot. Your situation at Hogwarts is precarious as it is.”

“Isn’t yours, too?” says Terry. “Sir.”

Snape almost loses his temper at that; he draws himself up and Terry shrinks back. He was brave enough for some cheek but he doesn't want to face any consequences for it. “The Carrows will not be so forgiving,” he says. “You’d do well to keep your mouth shut. Get out of my office.”

Terry gets out of his office.

* * *

 _He sees a fool;_  
_And it is not fine for gods to menace fools._

* * *

After the next round of graffiti is put up, Snape confiscates wands from every student who had been in the original DA to perform “Priori incantatem.” It's fruitless, because Luna had mentioned it as a possible problem after the first mission. Instead, Ginny had smuggled magically modified spray cans into the castle, courtesy of her brothers. She's banned from Hogsmeade for sneaking out, but they don't do a thorough job searching her, and she makes it back to the castle with dozens of cans shrunken and tucked into her bra.

At the start of October Anthony gets his first detention when he raises his hand and says that Muggles are the same species classification as wizards. “It’s stupid,” he says, when his friends are fretting over his bleeding hand that night. “There’s literally no denying it. And she didn’t even argue me—just gave me detention right off.”

“I don’t think Alecto Carrow really cares about how sound her logic is,” says Michael. 

“She should,” says Anthony sourly. He rubs at his hand and Terry makes a noise of protest. “Blood dictates status. That’s not even related to species classification. They could at least make the punishment fit the crime.”

“You’re upset about all the wrong things,” says Terry, ripping off a bit of Spellotape for the bandage. Anthony shrugs. 

"Maybe," he says.

* * *

[Poem: _If there is a witness to my little life_ , Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading.]


	3. The Horizon

Three days after Anthony's first detention, Ginny calls a DA meeting and they sit in a circle around the wireless. The station is tuned in to static, and it takes a few minutes of Ginny tapping the radio with her wand and murmuring for it to crackle to life.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen and anyone else, and welcome to Potterwatch!” says a familiar voice, and Terry spends the next three minutes trying to match it to a person before remembering oh, yeah, the Quidditch commentator. There's a list of the dead, dating back to three weeks ago, and Terry breathes out in relief when it is finished and neither of his parents are mentioned.

“And in recent current events, there's been a break in at the Ministry! That's right, folks, a break in! Three unknown heroes snuck into the Ministry of Magic and succeeded in rescuing about a dozen Muggleborns who were awaiting trial. Rumour has it that the three heroes were Harry Potter, with two unknown accomplices, but these have yet to be confirmed in any way, and we at Potterwatch hope Harry's a wee bit smarter than that.”

Michael remembers Harry Potter; breaking into the Ministry of Magic for some harebrained, useless, symbolic action seems just up his alley.

“And finally, we'd like to remind everyone to keep Hogwarts students in mind, as they struggle through a school year plagued by Severus Snape and the new Ministry ordinances. Keep your heads up, kids. There's hope.” There's an audible click, and then the radio falls back into static. Ginny turns it off.

“What do you think happened?” says Hannah. “He wasn't there just to sightsee, I'm sure.”

“They rescued a bunch of Muggleborns,” says Terry. He bounces his leg. His father isn't Muggleborn, but it's not too much to hope that his mother is safe, is it?

Anthony gives him a worried glance. Terry gives him a hopeful, crazy half-smile; it just ends up being depressing, because Anthony and Terry both know that Terry's parents should have already stood trial. Terry looks away after a moment.

“Right, right,” says Ginny. “The point is, why did Harry break into the Ministry?”

“They rescued a bunch of Muggleborns,” says Terry again, with the exact same inflection. He pushes his mother out of his mind.

“No, I doubt it,” says Ginny. “Harry's a little smarter than that; he knows how risky it is to show his face anywhere.”

“I sure hope so,” says Seamus, who's leaning back in his chair with one foot on the seat. “Him being our last hope and the Chosen One and all.”

Michael, himself, has his doubts. Not about the prophecy; he's not stupid enough to doubt Divination. It's been accurate for centuries. But Harry Potter is almost certainly Gryffindor enough to have broken into the Ministry to save Muggleborns.

Even if it'd been some kind of useless, pointless gesture, though, it'd taken real guts. Michael, who has no guts to speak of, can't disrespect that. He stares fixedly at his crossed ankles and slouches a bit.

“I think,” says Ginny, “that Harry went to the Ministry to get something. Over the summer, the Ministry sent someone to our house to deliver things from Dumbledore's will—"

“Harry got stuff?” says Terry. “Why did—”

“And the one thing they didn't let them have was the Sword of Gryffindor,” finishes Ginny, sending Terry a glare to shut him up.

“The Sword of Gryffindor?” says Terry, ignoring the glare.

“What does he need a sword for?” says Hannah.

“Well, the Ministry and the Order have tried everything else, I reckon,” says Terry.

“Yeah, that'll work,” says Seamus. “Just stick You-Know-Who with a sword.” Terry puts his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.

“It was from Dumbledore,” says Neville placatingly. “If Dumbledore—"

“Dumbledore wants Harry to stick You-Know-Who with a sword?” says Colin. Terry snorts and doubles over himself; his heavy glasses slip off his nose and fall to the ground, which only makes him laugh harder. Michael sends him an alarmed look. Lavender Brown covers her mouth with her hands to keep from giggling.

“I'm saying we should trust Dumbledore,” says Neville over the din. “He's the only one who had any idea what Harry needs to do.”

“Why?” says Seamus, and his is only one of the voices that starts to rise. “Are we sure Dumbledore wasn't just old and crazy? He hired Snape—"

“Seamus!” says Neville loudly. “Please.”

The Room falls silent. Neville blinks owlishly and glances sideways at Ginny; Ginny takes a deep breath and blows it out. “I think,” she says, “that Harry went to the Ministry for the Sword. They didn't let him have it, so I think he assumed it was still in Ministry custody.”

“But it's not,” says Terry. “It's in the Headmaster's office still, I saw it two weeks ago.”

“Exactly,” says Neville. “Wait, what were you—"

“Wait,” interrupts Michael, to Terry's relief. “Do you mean to say that you want the DA to get the Sword for Harry?”

“Yes,” says Ginny.

* * *

 _I saw a man pursuing the horizon;_  
_Round and round they sped._  
_I was disturbed at this;_  
_I accosted the man._

* * *

"Knut for your thoughts,” says Terry to Michael, as they walk back.

“I don't like this,” says Michael, predictably. “Of all the places to break into, the absolute stupidest is the Head's office.”

“Well,” says Terry. "That's Gryffindors for you." They walk on in silence.

Really, Terry sort of likes the idea. It reeks of fancy spellwork and complicated plans, and Terry lives for fancy spellwork and complicated plans. Michael's clearly worrying, and they should all be worrying with him, but Terry has some faith in the DA. Terry's seen Ginny Weasley when she's good and determined.

“What makes a Thestral invisible?” says the door knocker, and Michael and Anthony give Terry an identical weary look as he considers it carefully. He has treated every riddle since second year the exact same way and they are growing more and more sure that the door recognises his answers by now.

“Magic,” he says, finally.

“If you say so,” says the knocker. Terry smirks, then glances at Anthony for the answer.

“The fear of being misunderstood,” says Anthony dryly.

“My way is better,” says Terry. Anthony and Michael roll their eyes in unison, two halves of a whole for a moment.

* * *

The lesson is on the Cruciatus Curse. More about the use of the curse than the prevention of it. Amycus snaps at Anthony when he points out the illegality and next to him, Terry's hands shake so violently that he spills ink down his front.

As they leave class, Terry struggles to Vanish the ink with one hand, holding his glasses onto his face with the other.

“How far do you reckon they’re going to go to keep us in line?” says Michael. Umbridge’s quills aside, there are dark stories going around of the Carrows losing their tempers in class. Alecto threw a book at Jack Sloper two days ago, or so they've heard.

“What's that s'posed to mean?” Anthony says. “Terry, d'you want me to-”

“No,” says Terry, still sweeping his wand around his torso before he decides, oh, hang it, the robes are black anyway.

“Interrogation spell,” says Michael, “or chastisement.”

They catch on immediately; Anthony forces a laugh. “Don't be ridiculous. That's illegal.”

Terry chokes on his next breath and just nods. Michael is a sort of tiresome pessimist but Terry's worried that Michael's warnings aren't too far from the truth, this time.

“They’re Death Eaters,” says Michael. "They don't care what's legal."

* * *

The DA only plans the mission out over a three-week period, which Michael warns everyone is probably not enough. Ginny says it has to be enough; too much longer and they'll have reshuffled the Prefects' patrol schedule again, and the DA will have to figure out a new route.

There is a diversion planned; Seamus, Lavender, and Michael are breaking into the Great Hall to replace the graffiti that Filch scrubbed away. Michael had volunteered for it in lieu of standing guard outside the Head's office; as the day approaches, he regrets his more and more, though he'd never admit it.

The only ones who actually plan to break into the office are Ginny, Neville, and Luna. Hannah, Anthony, Parvati, and Colin stand guard outside with instructions to change the Galleons if anything goes wrong. The Galleons burn; the people on guard run. Hopefully the rest make it out of the office in time. Hopefully the vandals aren't caught. Hopefully they get the sword. Hopefully.

It's October 31, and the school is frightening. It's not the usual Halloween decorations; it's the absence of them. Michael doesn't mind, because he hates fun and holidays, but Terry sits at breakfast chewing half-heartedly on his toast and missing the cheer. Anthony stands up to intervene in a fight between two third years; Michael sits so still he's practically vibrating. They are all on edge.

Michael meets Lavender and Seamus at midnight in the Room; most of the rest of the senior DA is already there. Anthony is going over the contingency routes back to the Room with Hannah.

Terry had wanted to go, but he's legally blind without his glasses and had made the mistake of telling Neville that. Neville's not risking their mission and their friends to Terry's glasses.

They have smuggled Weasley goods for this mission; there is not much worse than getting caught breaking into the Headmaster's office, and they know it. Michael's not too keen about this bit of it; he's already a slow runner, even when not weighed down with anything that could potentially be useful.

“It's the risk versus reward factor,” Terry had said, when Michael had complained. “Probability you get caught isn't too high, but probability of you escaping goes up if you have extra equipment. Probability you don't get caught and the extra stuff interferes with the job is very low.”

“I hate you,” Michael had replied, which meant he knew Terry was right.

They head out.

* * *

 _“It is futile,” I said,_  
_“You can never - “_

* * *

There's a scare on the third floor with Mrs. Norris but they freeze instinctively, and she moves on after a moment.

“Too close,” whispers Seamus. Lavender shushes him fervently and they go back to their Common rooms separately. 

Alone for four flights of stairs, Michael's breathing gets shorter and less stealthy; by the time he arrives back at Ravenclaw he's ready to faint. He sits heavily between Padma and Terry and stretches out until the door reopens, a half hour later, and Anthony materializes slowly. They know immediately that something is wrong.

"Is Luna there?" says Terry, and Anthony shakes his head. "No," he says. "They got caught."

"Where are they?" says Padma, and Anthony shakes his head again. 

"We don't know," he says.

* * *

 _“You lie,” he cried,_  
_And ran on._

* * *

[Poem: _I saw a man pursuing the horizon_ , Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading.]


	4. In The Darkness

Nobody hears from Ginny, Neville, or Luna for three long days. Anthony spends a full hour sitting on a desk in an empty classroom conjuring little birds and shooting them down with Reducto curses.

Terry watches Anthony aiming at another of the little bastards and says dryly, “I bet that helps.”

Anthony shoots another bird down.

By now they've given up on trying to contact their missing leaders, and there is nothing for the DA to do but lie restlessly in wait. Anthony explodes birds. Terry plays chess with himself and stays up late. Michael lies in bed with his homework strewn around him, slacking off.

“It's no use asking the Carrows,” says Seamus glumly, holding a rag to his bloody nose. “Just said they were being punished.”

“For three days?” says Hannah. She's the one who called this meeting, an impromptu gathering of the old DA.

“Pinch it and lean your head back,” Terry says. Seamus follows directions.

“For what it's worth,” says Padma, “They're all tough. They'll be fine. The Carrows can't kill students.”

“Just because they haven't yet doesn't mean they can't,” says Michael.

* * *

 It's not among the enumerated responsibilities of Prefects, but the Carrows have decided that Prefects ought to oversee detentions with them. It’s to teach them a lesson about authority or something. Consequently, Anthony is sitting on a stool between Andrew Kirke and Pansy Parkinson with his feet propped on an empty chair in front of him, trying to do his homework on his lap. He volunteers for all the detentions lately. They make Ernie squeamish and Anthony's a good friend.

The students are writing lines with Umbridge's quills, various anti-Muggle sentiments and propagandist slogans. The Carrows are still useless dictators.

Anthony has served six detentions, almost a full week's worth, and by now he is very good at it. All he has to do is sit. He is bent awkwardly over his lap, his inkwell balanced on his knee, when Carrow speaks for the first time.

“You're writing too slow.”

“No I’m not,” says Seamus Finnigan. “I'm writing as fast as I ever have.” Anthony cranes his neck; Finnigan has filled at least three feet of parchment.

“She's got more done than you,” says Carrow, gesturing towards Romilda Vane. Finnigan leans over to look and Anthony cranes his neck. Vane has managed four feet.

“Her writing's bigger,” Finnigan points out. “It’s bad enough I've been in here long enough it isn't fading—” He brandishes one hand at her and Anthony winces; the back of his hand is a mess of blood.

“That's how it's s'posed to happen,” snarls Carrow. “You'll write as much as I tell you to in my detentions, so long as you keep landing yourself in them—”

Finnigan scowls. “I don’t land myself in them. You're looking for a fight every time I—”

“Detention!” snaps Carrow.

“What, another one?” Finnigan snaps back. Anthony's quill is dripping ink on his knee but he doesn't care enough to move it; the whole room is gaping at the confrontation now. Anthony has a very good idea of where this is going: either Finnigan backs down or Carrow snaps.

It doesn't take a genius to know which one is going to come first.

They snap back and forth until Carrow slights Finnigan's mother. Finnigan smacks his desk and springs to his feet. Carrow shoves him so violently that he falls over his desk and hits his head on Romilda Vane's. Then she shouts “Crucio!” and then Finnigan is screaming and Vane is screaming and Anthony spills his ink everywhere and the curse stops, as though Carrow's just remembered that she's a professor.

“Go on,” says the Amycus. “Finish it, Alecto. Snape put us in charge.”

* * *

Ginny, Luna, and Neville are back the next morning. They stump into the Great Hall, exhausted and filthy, and sit at the long tables and devour their meals.

Ginny and Neville are quickly surrounded by their housemates, Seamus hovering at Neville's side, Lavender and Colin by Ginny, other Gryffindors buzzing around. It's quieter around Luna, at first, but then Anthony gets up and plops himself next to her, and then Padma follows.

“So what happened?” asks Anthony.

“Oh, Professor Snape sent us to the Forest,” says Luna, nonchalantly. “No wands. We had to gather potions ingredients. Ran into some centaurs and some spiders, but on the whole it was rather uneventful.”

“Spiders?” says Michael, leaning over Anthony's shoulder.

“Yes, as big as a car,” she says.

“A car?” says Michael, paling. He is afraid of bugs.

“Damn,” says Terry appreciatively. He is not.

“And centaurs,” adds Luna. “They wanted to kill us, but I explained that our current government, which was the same one oppressing them, had sent us in, probably in the hopes that we'd die in the Forest-”

“Merlin's hat,” says Morag MacDougal, leaning over Padma's shoulder.

“And after that they seemed very eager to help us find Snape's potion ingredients, even though they said it was a wizard's war that they didn't care to get caught up in, and they said they won't do it again.”

“Hopefully we won't get caught sneaking into the Headmaster's office again,” says Michael.

There is a pause as Luna spreads jam on her toast, her hands steady. Anthony gives Michael and Terry a funny look. The Forest isn't  _ideal_ but it could have been so much worse, and that's become clear to him since last night.

“We were Cruciated,” says Luna after another moment, to Padma, and Anthony silently marks himself wrong, puts his chin in his hands unhappily. Terry flushes red and shakes his head vigourously.

“You— they— you  _what_?” says Michael.

* * *

As expected, they hadn’t gotten the sword. Ginny says, the next week, that they could try again, but she is voted down resoundingly.

“It's no go,” says Jimmy Peakes. “I heard from my sister that Snape told Amycus who told Crabbe who told Nott who-”

“What?” interrupts Ginny.

“They moved the Sword, took it to Gringotts.”

“Well, fine then,” says Terry in an undertone. “We'll have to break in there.” Anthony snorts.

Michael thinks this is ignoring the very obvious reason they shouldn’t go doing anything as stupid as that. Luna had been _Cruciated._ If the Carrows are happy using illegal spells then they are all in deep, deep shit.

The DA gives up on the Sword, but, Ginny says, it doesn't mean they're beaten. Just means that they clearly can't get the Sword and can focus their efforts elsewhere.

* * *

And they do. The month wears on and the DA's numbers start to grow slowly. Despite the increasing numbers of patrolling Prefects and staff members, graffiti keeps appearing randomly in the night. What was more, the graffiti that had coincided with the Headmaster's Office break-in had made it impossible for Snape to say that Ginny, Neville, and Luna were in the DA. After all, they couldn't have put up the graffiti, which had set off wards at the same time that Snape's office had.

While it's no secret among most students who belongs to the DA, the Carrows and Snape still seem to have no clue who's behind anything, and as day after day passes with nobody caught, they become increasingly frustrated.

The negative side of this is that the Carrows are more volatile, more likely to lash out. The Cruciatus leaks into more detentions, along with more other, more harmless spells. Diffindo and Impedimenta and, sometimes, sheer brutish violence. 

It’s in November that Amycus brings in rats for the seventh year classes to practice the Cruciatus on and Michael gives Anthony a horrified look. “This can’t be legal,” he says. “Not even on rats—”

Anthony grimaces—he hadn’t told them about Seamus Finnigan’s initial torture, and then he hadn’t told them about the other three curses he’d seen. They both still think it'd been an isolated occasion, with the students who'd broken into the Head's office, and Anthony is still letting them think that. He doesn’t know how to tell them, maybe, or he doesn’t want to say it, or he's waited too long and it's too late now. He doesn't know.

In Dark Arts one day (by now, it has just become Dark Arts class to them; they have no interest in labeling it as something it's not), they wait for ten minutes for Professor Carrow, who is sitting at his desk reading the Daily Prophet, to begin the lesson, before there's a timid knock on the door and a fourth year and fifth year, both Gryffindor, walk in.

“There we go,” says Amycus, setting the paper down. Terry wishes he were brave enough to go and look at it, see what the news is. It's halfway through November; the Death Eaters had come to his house in August. Months have passed. Surely there'd be no news on his parents, but there has to be good news somewhere.

“Mr. Creevey and Mr. Coote are here for detention,” announces Amycus, standing up. “C'mere,” he adds, waving them over to the front of the room.

Anthony glances at Michael, his fingers moving to his hair nervously. Carrow grabs Coote's shoulder and tries to grab Creevey's; Creevey squirms away. Carrow catches him and stands them side by side at the front of the classroom, a little bit away from anything else.

“There,” says Carrow. “Any of you wanna volunteer?”

There are only the eight Ravenclaw seventh years in this class; they exchange confused glances but don't dare to reply.

Ravenclaws are not known for their unwillingness to volunteer in classes. Terry likes to volunteer for everything, even when he doesn't have the answer, and Professor McGonagall has stopped calling on him. The seventh years sit silently, Anthony fidgeting with his hair, Michael staring down at the top of the desk, Terry still sending furtive glances at the newspaper on Carrow's desk. (God, it's been forever since he's seen a newspaper. They don't come in the mail anymore.)

“Goldstein and Patil,” says Carrow. “Since you're the high-and-mighty Prefects, eh?”

Anthony's hands go completely still; he shoots a furtive look at Padma. Padma's expression is guarded. Anthony is reminded that the Gryffindors have Dark Arts two hours before them; he wonders what happened then. Padma would have heard about it by now.

“Go on, stand up,” says Amycus. Anthony stands up so slowly that his legs give out before he's fully upright and he has to stand up again. Terry wants to laugh at him. He doesn't.

“And like you’ve practiced,” says Amycus. “You know the wand movements. Cruciate ‘em.”

“You're joking,” says Anthony.

Amycus is not joking. He jerks his head towards Coote.

“You’re joking,” says Anthony again, almost hysterically. “All due respect, professor. No.”

“Do it or kiss that badge goodbye,” says Amycus, and calls Anthony a nasty word. Anthony clenches his fists in his pockets, then takes a deep breath and unclenches them.

“Take it,” he says, grabbing for his badge and unclasping it, reclasping it with infinite care. Amycus catches it, to everyone's surprise, particularly Anthony, who hadn't even registered that he'd tossed it until it was too late.

Anthony is first Cruciated in the Dark Arts classroom, and his knees buckle and he hits his head so hard on the desk behind him that he is dizzy for the rest of the day. Padma is first Cruciated moments later, Dennis Creevey and Ritchie Coote immediately after.

* * *

For what had probably been twenty seconds of pain, it makes Anthony's thoughts skittish and disjointed for hours after, and the effect the curse had on his thought processes bothers Anthony more than the actual pain had.

“Not that the pain wasn't bad, of course,” he says. He shakes his head and shudders. Terry is in the restroom washing his face; it's okay to say this if he's not here. Terry looks ill every time it's brought up. “It was definitely bad.”

“Bad,” repeats Michael, shaking his head. “You get tortured and you say it was _bad_.”

“It was injurious,” says Anthony, and Michael barely smiles. “It was bad. I... I can't explain any better. I'm sorry.”

Just as the utter lack of control he's had over his brain had bothered him, this utter inability to explain the curse is bothering him very much. Anthony frowns, his face twisted in the memory of the pain, and Michael watches him nervously.

“Hard to say,” he says, finally, and it's an answer that satisfies neither Anthony nor Michael.

* * *

It's November twenty-seventh, and Terry waits in the Room. The patrols around the castle have practically doubled, and  Hannah and Ernie come back from Prefect meetings with maps covered with enough intimidating patrol routes marked that even Seamus agrees that missions should be pulled back. The DA is back to testing the waters: only a few small groups of the senior members are going out tonight, because they can't be sure that they'll avoid being caught.

Terry is responsible for keeping the Room open; he hates the job, because it's boring and he doesn't do anything, but as long as he's in the Room, it can't be used for anyone else's purposes, and so he sits in an armchair and does his Potions homework. Michael is grouped with Lavender Brown and Seamus Finnigan. Anthony is with Ginny and Padma.

* * *

“Sweet hell,” hisses Seamus, struggling to extricate his foot from a trick stair.

“I _told_ you that was there,” whispers Lavender. She and Michael have taken up position guarding Seamus as he yanks on his foot.

“Twist your leg,” suggests Michael.

“Already tried that,” says Seamus, his voice ground out as if through gritted teeth. Michael can't see Seamus, only a very faint rippling in the air where he's still tugging at his foot, but he can see the area that the stair has sunk around his foot.

“Try and relax it and pull it out slow,” suggests Lavender.

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Seamus.

“Just try it, I might be right,” says Lavender.

“Alright, alright-” There's a popping sound, and Seamus falls onto Michael. Michael is only a few inches taller than Seamus and it's a struggle to keep his balance. There are a few moments of grunting and grappling at walls, the banister, and what he suspects is Seamus's face before they both manage to stand up and continue to the Room, stepping carefully over the next trick stair Lavender warns them about.

“We lost too much time,” whispers Seamus, as they're hurrying past the library. “We'll be lucky to-”

There's a flash of light, and Michael freezes in place, and then there's a voice. “Homenum Revelio. Ah, I thought so.”

Michael can't move, and, from what he can tell, neither can the other two. Body-Bind Curse. There are footprints, and then something hits Michael on the top of the head; something very warm trickles down his back. He watches as Seamus and Lavender become visible too. They are _fucked_.

Snape speaks again. “I must admit I'm not surprised to see you two out after curfew-” he says, probably to Seamus and Lavender, “But I'm disappointed, Mr. Corner. I'd always thought you were smart. Now. I'd like an explanation-” He waves his wand, and the frozen stiffness disappears from Michael's neck and upwards.

“We were-” starts Michael.

“Not you,” Snape cuts him off. “I’m asking Finnigan.”

Michael looks at Seamus; Seamus swallows hard. “I was sneaking to the library,” he says, “and Lavender and Michael tried to stop me.”

“ _You_ were sneaking to the library,” says Snape.

Seamus swallows again. “Yeah,” he says.

“And Mr. Corner, all the way in Ravenclaw Tower, learned of your intention and bravely made his way here to defend it, I presume,” says Snape.

“That sounds like something Corner would do,” says Seamus, but it's a feeble attempt at humour and not a defense.

“And I assume the vandalism in the Great Hall behind my seat just materialized through an unknown and unrelated force,” says Snape, and Michael closes his eyes.

“Oh,” says Seamus.

* * *

 _I was in the darkness;_  
_I could not see my words_  
_Nor the wishes of my heart._

* * *

“I'm sorry,” says Seamus.

Michael doesn't respond; Lavender says softly, “It's not your fault.”

“You told me there was a trick stair,” says Seamus glumly.

“It was just bad luck,” says Lavender. “Everyone misses those stairs once in a while.”

“Can't go forgetting those stairs when there's torture on the line,” says Seamus. “Now I'm landing you two in trouble-”

“It was bound to happen,” says Michael, his head bobbing oddly. His chin is resting on his knees; his arms are wrapped around his legs. “Didn't expect it to happen to me, but you know.”

“Sorry,” says Seamus again.

“It's alright,” says Michael.

“You been Cruciated yet?” Seamus asks. “I know me and Lav have-”

“No,” says Michael. He puts his head in his arms and closes his eyes. Not that it changes the view. It's pitch dark in the dungeon. And he's freezing his arse off and sitting on hard stone and somehow sweaty.

“It's bad at first,” says Seamus. “I won't deny it. Hurts like the devil.”

Perhaps it's the simple, quiet honesty that really sinks it in. Michael doesn’t want to be tortured. He doesn’t.

“I don't know what they're planning,” admits Seamus. “If I had to guess? Cruciatus. But I swear after a few times. I mean, won't say you get used to it, you really can't. But you can kind of expect it.”

“Expect it,” repeats Michael, because he can't think of anything to say.

“You stop getting caught off guard,” says Seamus, and it's almost wistful, like he misses being caught off guard. Lavender sighs, a soft breath.

“You scared?” asks Michael, and he's disgusted at the question. It's a personal question, firstly, and it's such a needy, desperate question.

There's a quiet pause, and Michael wonders if it would be better to take his question back or to keep talking and cover it up or to wait.

“Not really,” says Seamus finally, and Michael can't think of anything to say to that.

* * *

[Poem: _I was in the darkness_ , Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading.]


	5. The Devils

Terry waits in the common room all night; he falls asleep in an armchair around five in the morning, because if Michael gets back, Michael would wake him up, and so when he finally wakes up, it is ten o'clock, he's missed Transfiguration and Potions class, and when he asks, Anthony says Michael hasn't come back yet.

Mother _fucker._

The Carrows come to get them the next morning; when they open the door, it's so bright that Michael can't see anything for a moment. Lavender and Seamus are both asleep, Seamus's head drooping on her shoulder. Michael wonders how Lavender had found him in the dark.

“Do we get to go to the Forest?” Seamus asks, but Amycus shoves him in response.

“Take that as a no,” says Seamus, and they follow the Carrows to the Great Hall, where everyone else is eating lunch.

They're Cruciated, as Seamus had predicted. It's bad, as Seamus had said. They Cruciate Seamus, then Lavender, and Michael wonders if it's a blessing or a curse to go last.

No pun intended, he adds to himself, and almost laughs. He's close to hysteria; he hates it.

It's as bad as it looks, but then they're free to go and Anthony gets up from where he and Terry are sitting (Terry looks as bad as Michael feels and doesn't seem capable of movement) and helps him up.

“Did I cry?” says Michael, sitting down without looking at either of his friends.

Anthony hesitates, not sure if he should tell the truth and make Michael feel worse, which tells Michael very clearly what the answer was.

“Great,” says Michael, and he reaches for a pitcher of juice. His hands are shaking too badly to hold it; he sets it down carefully and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

“Mate,” says Anthony, almost in awe. “That was an ugly first Cruciatus.”

“You say that like I'm going to have more,” says Michael.

* * *

Anthony is Cruciated for raising his hand in Dark Arts and pointing out that Carrow's spell technique was poor, then Cruciated again when he resurfaces and says, “See, that's what I meant. You don't have the magical stamina to maintain a curse of that power.” He's yelled at for getting between Alecto Carrow and a group of Slytherin third years and saying very reasonably that technically, they haven't done anything punishable, which he knows, because he's studied the Hogwarts rulebook. Extensively. He's slapped for saying loudly in Muggle Studies that the most famous and powerful wizard of recent times was a halfblood.

The Carrows have grown less tolerant. Anthony watches Crabbe across the room—of all the people who could have gotten Anthony’s confiscated badge, it had gone to  _Crabbe._  It’s just an insult. An insult to the title of Prefect and an insult to Anthony's badge that he'd taken such good care of and, especially, an insult to Anthony.

Terry shakes his head as they’re walking back from Dark Arts. “They have to learn that this isn’t an eye for an eye situation.”  
  
“What?” says Michael.

“The Carrows.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“They’re immature,” says Terry. “It's actually, it's like playground bullying, right? We don't do a thing, they push us a little. We push them a little back, we get pushed harder.”

“You're one to talk about immaturity,” says Anthony.

“I'm not the one blowing off steam by exploding birds,” Terry shoots back.

“You tried to convince Carrow that your last name is pronounced 'Butt',” replies Anthony.

“I almost had him fooled, too. My point is, by some point, we're gonna push hard enough that they blow.” Terry nods sagely as they climb the stairs.

“Haven't we already?” says Anthony. He's referring to the events from three days ago, when there had been such an unprecedented abundance of anti-Carrow graffiti in literally every hallway of the school that Amycus Carrow, in a fit of impotent rage, had put every single student in the fifth year and older into detention. Only Snape’s intervention had prevented it.

“I doubt it,” says Terry. “Either we push it hard enough that they crack down on us and we get caught out, or we push it too hard and we get caught and they crack down on us.”

“That's cheerful,” says Michael, who isn't used to Terry being the one to make dire predictions. He knocks.

“From what substance is a Corporeal Patronus made?” asks the knocker.

From memory, supplies Anthony. From the material thoughts of times of happiness.

“Magic,” says Terry.

If door knockers could sigh, Anthony was certain the door knocker would sigh. But the door opens.

“From memory,” says Anthony. Terry snorts.

The Carrows drag Ginny Weasley off for “interrogation” once, and she returns tired and bruised. Snape had intervened; the Carrows have no right to torture a student for information. An underage one, at that.

(No right to torture students for information _yet_ , says Michael. Terry excuses himself and goes to the restroom to splash water on his face until he doesn't feel so ill; Anthony shoots Michael a _now look what you've done_ look.)

Michael Corner asks Luna one day if she thinks he is a coward. She considers her answer for so long that he thinks he knows what she will say, but she surprises him.

No, she says. He just reserves his bravery for when it's most needed. You watch, she says. Some time you will need to be brave, or someone else will need you to be brave, and then you will be.

Michael doesn't think he believes her, but he supposes he wants to, or he wouldn't have asked.

* * *

Anthony, Michael, and Terry play Exploding Snap outside, lying on their stomachs. They are getting dry, frozen grass on their robes, faces warmed in short bursts when their cards catch fire. Anthony obliterates the other two; it's the only game he can play.

“You know,” says Michael, “Me and Terry were talking about this the other day-”

“Don't take this the wrong way,” interjects Terry, and his card catches fire. He blows out the tiny kindling flame and throws out a two of spades. Anthony takes a moment to do a ridiculous victory dance. Then he throws out a king of spades and claims the stack.

“What?” asks Anthony.

“Cruciatus,” says Michael. Their Dark Arts class, since Dennis Creevey and Ritchie Coote, has had a few other students brought in for detentions- Romilda Vane, Natalie MacDonald, and Kevin Whitby. Padma, Lisa, and Michael had all been Cruciated.

“What about it?” asks Anthony, making a show of shuffling his deck, which is about twice as big as Terry's. Michael drops his three cards on the grass and accepts defeat.

“In Dark Arse,” says Michael. “When you take a step back from the situation and you look at it logically. It doesn't make a lot of sense to refuse-”

“And we were going to tell Ginny this,” interrupts Terry. “Because the thing is, the Cruciatus is based on how much intent you put into the spell. The Carrows? They’re evil. I’m not. So if I had to Cruciate some poor kid, it'd be better for them that it was me, 'cause I'd be shite at it.”

Anthony puts his chin in his hands. “Makes sense,” he says.

“Right,” says Michael. “Gryffindors probably won't ever agree, because everything's about the principle of the thing, but-”

“No, no, I get it,” says Anthony. He thinks. “Ginny is not going to like this.”

* * *

 _I stood upon a high place,  
And saw, below, many devils_  
_Running, leaping,_  
_and carousing in sin._

* * *

Terry is first Cruciated in December because Alecto sneers about Muggleborns who end up as criminals, and he raises his hand to point out that plenty of Purebloods go to Azkaban too, which she should know, since she'd been there.

Michael gets a disappointed letter from home about how his father had felt finding out that Michael had vandalized the school. He doubts it will be the end of it but somehow he isn't too worried. He's already been Cruciated and his father can't top that.

“I wonder if I can tell him I already got tortured for it,” he says.

“The Carrows are reading the mail,” Terry reminds him. “And nobody would agree with the way the Carrows are running the school.”

“Just pretend you didn't get the letter,” says Anthony.

“Hm,” says Michael.

* * *

Anthony Goldstein isn't sure when it was decided that he and Hannah are basically Luna's seconds in command. The DA was organized into three sections: training, resistance, and Luna. Luna was the voice in Ginny's ears telling her not to risk too much, Luna was the voice in Neville's ear reminding him that they were only children with everything to lose. Anthony respects her a lot. Even if she's odd.

And she's really odd.

The DA starts working on learning how to fight when being pursued and memorizing where the trick steps are in the castle. Neville starts teaching the youngest DA members how to cast Shield charms. Hannah starts learning healing spells. They meet up to crowd around the radio every so often.

“I wonder how they're doing it,” says Terry in an undertone, one day as they're listening to Potterwatch. “I mean, they'd need specialized magical equipment, which is expensive and hard to get, and they'd need to find a channel to broadcast, but they can't just buy the rights to one, 'cause it's an illegal station—”

“Terry, mate,” says Michael. “I'm trying to listen.”

“I'm just—” starts Terry.

“Come on,” says Anthony. They shut up.

“—but I'd be careful anyway,” says River. “There's rumours going around that You-Know-Who is looking for someone, and nobody knows who it is. All we can do is speculate, and the general belief is that he's looking for someone with knowledge of Harry Potter, or how to defeat him. To those who know Harry, make sure you're protected, decide on safety questions with your families, and try not to die.”

* * *

Ginny, as predicted, doesn't like the suggestions that Anthony makes. He's glad somewhat that it'd been him to make the suggestions. If she didn't like them from him, she certainly wouldn't have liked them from Michael. 

The nicest thing she says to him is that she can't believe she's been consorting with someone who'd go along with the Carrows, and she also calls him a number of names and threatens to kick him out of the DA. It takes intervention from Padma, Luna, Hannah, and Neville to get her to calm down.

“How could you even suggest it?” says Ginny, her arms folded and her face twisted. “Why would you ever want to sink to their level? Just because you don't want to be cursed doesn't mean—”

“Ginny,” says Luna gently. Ginny's scowl deepens.

“It's not that,” says Anthony. “If we don't do a curse, then the Carrows do. It's based on intent. It's better that we do it, because we really don't want to watch it, whereas the Carrows do.”

“And we're going to ignore that this is because you're a coward,” snaps Ginny.

“I'm getting cursed more than any other Ravenclaw right now,” says Anthony, which is only slightly an exaggeration. There's a sixth year with a smart mouth. “I'm just looking at the facts-”

“You can't just make every decision based on the facts,” says Ginny. “You have to consider other people and their feelings—”

“I have feelings too,” Anthony says, starting to lose his cool. “I'm just capable of not letting them control me! That's why I'm here, because I don't make stupid decisions!”

“You—”

“Ginny,” says Hannah, putting her hand on Ginny's arm tentatively. “He's right, you know, it's important to have someone who can look beyond emotions and feelings.”

“We still need to remember those feelings and emotions—”

“That's what we have you and Neville and me for, isn't it?” says Hannah.

* * *

Neville tells Anthony in private the next day that, really, it takes just as many guts to do the Curse as it would to refuse to. “I'm not gonna curse anyone,” he says. “I doubt I have it in me.”

“Have what?” asks Anthony warily. Even though Neville doesn't seem angry, Anthony's sure he's being judged in some way. A lot of the DA is odd around him now that he's the Ravenclaw who'd suggested they cave to the Carrows and torture each other.

Neville shrugs. “Ginny would say it's cruelty,” he says. “But it's not. It's… kind of strength, really. Putting your conscience aside and doing what's right.”

Amycus Carrow is in a bad mood, the next time they see him. Michael credits it to the DA; Anthony suspects it has to do with the Gryffindors. It's the first time one of them actually Cruciates someone; it's Terry, and he feels sick. Carrow claps him on the back and says that he's probably the smartest Ravenclaw they've seen yet.

“Given that you're supposed to be the smart ones, anyhow,” he adds, then gives Anthony a dirty look.

“I'm sorry,” Terry tells the kid, when they leave.

She shrugs. “No offense, it was really pathetic,” she says.

“You were screaming a lot,” says Terry. He still feels ill. He needs something to smoke.

She shrugs. “If they knew you were pathetic, they'd make you do it again, and you looked sick already.”

Terry stops dead, then has to jog a couple steps. “You're telling me you faked all that?”

“Yep,” she says.

“I was about to be sick,” says Terry.

“Yeah, I know,” says the kid.

* * *

  _One looked up, grinning,_  
_And said, “Comrade! Brother!”_

* * *

 [Poem: _I stood upon a high place_ , Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading.]


	6. Of Holy Men

They are halfway through December and they are parting . Anthony is not going home for the holiday, even though he knows he should. He wouldn't be missing Hanukkah, this year, and his parents will fret, but he is a Prefect even if he lost his badge to a Slytherin this year, and he is responsible for the younger students in his house. Not all of them are going home.

He watches out the window as students tramp through the snow to Hogsmeade, turns around, looks at the small gathering of the students who have nowhere to go this holiday. He swallows hard, hopes fervently that the Carrows will be mellow for the next three weeks, that the absence of classes will keep them all safe.

He knows better than to hope for things, though, because it never helps, and so he walks around the castle, up and down the stairs. The only Prefects who stay for the holiday are Slytherin; he knows it isn't very fair to judge them for that, to assume that their intentions are malicious.

But there's a saying about fairness and love and war that he very firmly believes, and so he walks the halls at night, in his sock feet and Disillusioned, and keeps his ears out for trouble.

He's caught once. It isn't because his Disillusion is faulty, it's because the Carrows do a surprise inspection of all the dorms and find out he's not there. He's Cruciated, but by now, it's happened maybe nine times. He doesn't like it but he's not dead yet.

He lights his menorah in his room. He worries that the Carrows will inspect their dorms again, that he'll lose it, but he doesn't want to Disillusion it or hide it.

He runs the risk.

* * *

 Michael and Terry are both seventh year, halfblood, and near the beginning of the alphabet, so they get to sit in the same compartment, with Hannah Abbott, Tracey Davis, and Seamus Finnigan.

Michael says that Seamus Finnigan is a sign of impending doom, which is not very nice, but not inaccurate either. After they've settled into their seats, Seamus says something about going to talk to the Patil twins.

“I wouldn't,” warns Terry. “They assigned us these compartments.”

“Not like nobody's ever left their compartments before, is it?” says Seamus, and he unlatches the door.

There's an argument, they can tell that much, and Hannah stands up after a moment to go out and tell him to get back in, and then there's a thunk as Seamus slams into the door. Hannah yelps and jumps back; there's a softer series of thunks as he writhes by the door.

He comes back in after a few more moments, out of breath and rubbing the back of his head.

“They said no,” he says, voice hoarse, and sits down with a huff.

After that they don't talk much. Seamus pokes his head outside after an hour to see if there are still Death Eaters watching the compartment. He yanks his head back inside with a speed that says enough. Michael reads ahead in his Transfiguration textbook; Terry and Seamus start up a game of Exploding Snap.

The deck explodes at the very moment the train stops, and there's a moment of confusion before Tracey Davis points out the window. “Dementors,” she says, with a forced casual air.

Terry's stomach drops, and he wonders who they're here for. They don't bring Dementors in for no reason. He's probably just paranoid, but he wonders when it'll be that halfbloods stop being protected. He looks across the compartment at Seamus Finnigan, whose face is draining of colour.

But, for whatever reason, the Dementors don't even approach the back of the train where they are with the rest of the halfbloods, but a spot near the middle. It's an older student, then, Pureblood, or a younger halfblood, and Michael and Terry exchange a glance.

Ginny Weasley, thinks Michael. She's from a family of blood traitors, and easily connected to Harry Potter. Michael runs his hands together rapidly and hopes that she's alright and watches as the Dementors leave the train. It's impossible to see who they took.

But when they reach the station, Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom are whispering furiously to each other. The Weasley twins are standing by, pointedly looking away but clearly eavesdropping, and as Michael watches, Ginny and Neville walk towards a man waiting by the train. He has white, fluffy hair, a long orange coat, and a very odd hat, and it's the Billywig necklace that tips Michael off.

“Luna,” he whispers, and Terry leans down a bit to hear. “They took Luna.”

Terry's face goes slack with the realisation, and Michael closes his eyes.

* * *

 Michael's mum makes him help her with the dinner, and he has a sinking feeling he knows why. Sure enough, as he's watching the vegetables chop themselves for the curry, she asks him how school is.

“It's fine,” he says.

“You've never gotten into trouble before,” she points out. “Not at school.”

It's patently false, because Michael can name a few times he's gotten in trouble, and all of them had involved Ginny Weasley. In fact, this time involved Ginny Weasley too, but she hadn't gotten in trouble with him this time, which he supposes isn't particularly fair.

“Everything's fine,” he says again.

His mum pats his cheek and clucks her tongue. “Lying,” she says, and adds something under her breath in Urdu. Sometimes Michael hates that she can see straight through him.

“The new rules are strict,” he says finally. “And the teachers are incompetent. But we're fine.”

As expected, Michael's dad yells at him over the vandalising-the-school thing once he gets home that night, which is miserable. But at least Terry is with his mother and sister in the kitchen and far enough away that he won't hear anything.

Michael sulks around his home for the whole holiday. His father isn't very thrilled about taking in Terry, who is, after all, the halfblood son of two smugglers, but Michael's mother has a soft spot for Terry, ever since she met him, and so Terry stays with them.

Terry, for his part, misses his parents a lot, and is starting to regret infringing on the Corners' Christmas. It's not worth the cooking to feel so out of place.

* * *

 “Michael says the new teachers are strict,” says Hafsa Corner, conversationally.

Terry almost snorts before he catches himself. “You could say that.” Hafsa arches her eyebrows.

“What's Mike in trouble for?” demands Michael's sister Lauren, who is six years old and fancies herself Terry's superior.

Terry fights back laughter and considers that Michael would strangle him if he told her the truth. “Sometimes, when people get to a certain age, they start going through teenage rebellions,” he tells her. “And then they get into trouble.”

“Not me,” says Lauren, with an air of absolute certainty.

“What Hogwarts house do you want to be in?” asks Terry, who knows the answer already, unless it's changed since the summer.

“Gryffindor,” says Lauren.

“I promise you will go through a teenage rebellion,” says Terry.

Hafsa turns around to shoot Terry a stern look. “Gryffindors don't have the monopoly on teenage rebellion,” she points out, one hand gesturing to the ceiling at what she probably intends to mean Michael, who is upstairs with his dad.

“Damn close,” says Terry, who thinks he's rather an authority on teenage rebellions, given that he's a member of the most rebellious teenage organization he knows.

“How do the new teachers treat you and Michael?” asks Hafsa.

“They don't like us,” says Terry. “But I don't think they like anyone very much.” They like Stephen okay, because Stephen over the years has learned how to bite his tongue and look away and because Stephen is Pureblood and respectable. They like Lisa okay, because she's polite and quiet. They like Ravenclaws, because Ravenclaws are usually too smart to do anything dumb.

But Ravenclaws are naturally argumentative; they love to debate, to argue opinions and facts, to craft defenses and offenses and to attack positions, to give a little and take a little. Take Anthony, for instance. The Carrows hate him.

“Are they unfair?” asks Hafsa. Terry laughs out loud, which Hafsa must take as an answer.

“Michael says they're just strict,” says Hafsa, quietly enough that Terry has to strain to hear it. “But I know him a lot better than he gives me credit for. I know he's not being honest.”

Terry Boot respects and admires Michael's mum quite a lot. A long time ago, when he didn't know about war and torture and all the awful risks to come, he would have sworn he'd never be able to lie to her. She’s the coolest aunt he’s got and she’s not even his real aunt.

“It's just like Mike said,” he says. “Strict, but nothing we can't handle.”

* * *

 “Merry Christmas,” someone tells Anthony when he comes down to the Common Room.

“I'm Jewish,” he says, but then he relaxes, because whatever, they're all just kids and it's Christmas.

There were usually seventy Ravenclaws, give or take a few. This year, there are fifty-three; there are only ten who had stayed over the holiday. Anthony, by now, knows the names of every Ravenclaw in the school and a lot of other students, because he's a Prefect at heart and he figures it's his responsibility to and besides, Crabbe can suck an egg.

“Anthony?” says Orla Quirke. He turns slightly to find her. She's still wearing a nightgown, and she's so pale- pale skin, pale eyes, pale hair- that she almost looks ghostly. “I made you a present. I know you don't celebrate-”

“You made me a present?” he repeats, and she holds out a small box.

It's not much- a Conjured paperweight and a card that says “Thanks for taking care of everyone”- but he's touched. Besides, she shouldn't have learned Conjuring until sixth year which makes it a damn impressive piece of spellwork even if it's lopsided, so he beams at her and shakes her hand.

“Thank you,” he says.

“I mean it,” she says. “You're taking care of everyone.”

Anthony laughs, then realises that laughing is a weird reaction and hastens to explain. “I'm not doing nearly enough.”

“You're doing more than anyone else,” she says, and Anthony thinks for a moment. He's Cruciated two people. He's lost his badge. He's barely keeping himself sane.

“Not nearly enough,” he repeats, and Orla doesn't push the subject.

* * *

 Terry finds Michael sitting on the floor in the chicken coop sulking. Michael scowls and asks him politely to go away. Terry takes the basket by the door and starts looking through the nests for eggs.

“Your mum was asking about the Carrows,” he says.

“And?” says Michael, who had been perfectly fine sulking and wants Terry to leave him to it. He feels better, by virtue of having a chicken (his favorite, named Fang) in his lap, but he still feels lousy. And it's freezing, despite his best efforts to put up charms to keep the chickens warm.

“I lied to her, same as you did,” says Terry, turning to look down at Michael. Michael shifts uncomfortably and winces. The chicken clucks and snaps her beak at Michael's fingers affectionately.

“Are we doing the right thing?” says Terry, his voice low. Michael closes his eyes and thinks for a moment. He wonders what it would accomplish to tell his parents the truth.

While his father is harsh, he would never agree with the measures the Carrows have taken. No sane adult would. But at the same time, his father and the other sane adults can do nothing. The Carrows are acting with the permission and orders of the Ministry.

And so Michael reopens his eyes and pets Fang. “I think so,” he says.

* * *

  _With eye and with gesture_  
_You say you are holy.  
__I say you lie;_

* * *

Thomas Corner, from the back, doesn't seem quite as menacing, just tall and fair and freckled. Terry stands in the door of the study looking in and trying to gather his courage. 

“You know,” Terry says, when he feels as courageous as he ever will, “You ought to give Michael more credit. You don't understand anything going on at Hogwarts.”

Thomas Corner stiffens and turns; Terry swallows, almost losing his nerve, but he stays put, stays in the doorway of the study and takes a deep breath. “You ought to listen when he tells you that some things aren't his fault.”

“He admitted his fault,” says Mr. Corner. Michael has Hafsa's dark hair and her dark eyes and her complexion and her height, but he also has Thomas Corner's stubborn refusal to show weakness and his careful hands.

“Do you know why he did it?” asks Terry, his hands in his pockets. He's not an imposing person, but he's taller than Mr. Corner and just as casually belligerent.

“He told me he was just foolish,” says Mr. Corner. 

“Do you know who the new teachers are?” Terry asks.

“The Carrow siblings?” says Corner. “As I recall, they're criminals.”

“They're Death Eaters,” says Terry. 

“I told Michael to stay away from politics,” says Mr. Corner, the first hint of anger creeping into his voice. “Our family is better off without being dragged into that mess-”

“No offense, sir,” says Terry, “but that mess drags people in whether they want to be or not.”

“If you mean your family was dragged into it, I'd argue that your family should have been expecting that for years-”

“I know what you think about my family,” says Terry, exasperated. "I don't- that's not the point here."

Terry loves his parents- they're better to him than Michael's father, at least- but he wishes they hadn't linked his name to the black market or the smuggling rings. It's hard enough having a name like _Teiresius_ without being a Boot on top of it.

“I can't control who Michael chooses to befriend,” says Mr. Corner. “First you, then the Weasley girl-”

“You can't control Michael, period,” Terry points out. “Legally, he's an adult now.”

“He lives under my-”

“Yeah,” says Terry, "And he hates it here." It is becoming clear that he has no chance of changing Mr. Corner's mind about his son. He shakes his head.

“I'll go,” he says, and Mr. Corner nods and turns around.

* * *

 _For I did see you_  
_Draw away your coats_  
_From the sin upon the hands_  
_Of a little child._  
_Liar!_

* * *

 [Poem: _With eye and with gesture_ , Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading.]


	7. The Red Sword

The train ride back to school is more depressing than the ride home, even without the Dementors stopping the train. Tracey Davis, the lone Slytherin, buries her face in a book on healing spells, and Hannah and Terry pester her about it until she puts it down and teaches them the spells to mend broken bones and to stop bleeding. Michael flips through his Transfiguration notecards and wonders absently what fresh horrors are waiting at school.

Anthony's surprised, at first, that Luna Lovegood was taken off the train, but in hindsight, he probably should have figured it out.

“Quibbler's been printing all kinds of inflammatory things since August,” he says glumly. He used to check the table Luna kept stocked with her smuggled copies.

Anthony can't imagine Luna in Azkaban- not Luna, with her talk of weird creatures and her weird jewelry. Not Luna who is _sixteen._

“Ugh,” says Michael. He shakes his head, too, not quite in tandem with Terry. “We're supposed to be the _smart_ ones.”

“I know,” says Anthony, who feels oddly responsible. He hadn't even been on the train, but he's a Prefect. Anthony almost forgets sometimes that he isn't technically a Prefect anymore.

Michael turns eighteen with little ceremony two weeks into the new term. Shortly after, they get word via Potterwatch that Xenophilius Lovegood is printing retractions of everything he's said for the last five months.

Anthony and Padma are Cruciated in the middle of the night because they sneak out of the Ravenclaw Tower looking for two fifth years who were missing. It isn't the curse that bothers Anthony this time; it's that two fifteen year olds are Cruciated for sneaking out for a snog, and that he and Padma are Cruciated for doing their job as Prefects. Or Padma's job, at least.

He and Padma take the fifth years back to the dorms and sit by the fire, and Padma asks if it has ever occurred to him that this sort of thing shouldn't be the responsibility of Prefects. They're the oldest, maybe, but they're barely adults.

“Nobody else will,” says Anthony, inspecting his scraped knee and torn trousers.

Professor Flitwick tells him, the next day in Charms, that he'd have been Head Boy if the year hadn't been this way. Anthony already knows this, simply because compared to the competition, he's the clear choice, but he thanks Professor Flitwick anyway.

* * *

The next people to be caught on a DA mission are Ernie Macmillan's group: Ernie, Romilda Vane, and Kevin Whitby. They are Cruciated publicly, and it's just as awful as it'd been when it'd been Michael.

And Kevin is fourteen, Romilda is sixteen—they're so _young_.

But the DA braves the storm. Luna is gone, but Anthony and Hannah step into the shoes she's left. It's Anthony who looks at Ginny's plans and points out the risks and asks her seriously what she is willing to give up, it's Hannah who stands on her tiptoes and tells Neville that it's about time they stopped for a snack or organized a day to sit together and listen to Potterwatch and breathe safely.

Dementors are stationed outside the school; Death Eaters are assigned to patrol the hallways at night. Terry sits in the Ravenclaw Tower with his feet on a table and keeps track of who's accounted for as they trickle back from their missions. This job is given to Rose Zeller and Euan Abercrombie in the other Houses—third years. _Third_ years!

His uselessness has its benefits, though. One night while Terry is sitting up waiting, the Carrows come in to order a surprise inspection of the dorms. Terry spends the next ten minutes in a thinly suppressed panic, arguing with them over whether it's a good idea to proceed.

After all, teenagers, especially younger ones, _need_ their sleep, and the older ones are at a time of their lives when their marks matter, and do the Carrows really think they will have accrued anything illegal since the last inspections when there hasn't been a Hogsmeade trip, there are Death Eaters and Dementors everywhere, and the mail is being searched, and in any case it's one in the morning and these searches can be delayed easily.

Besides, he says, there are a lot of students in this school who will not take kindly to being woken at midnight on the day before the Transfiguration tests Professor McGonagall is holding en masse tomorrow, and a good lot of them are Ravenclaw.

It works, in the end, and they leave without performing their inspections, or even asking Terry why he's not in bed. Perhaps they are just tired of hearing him talk. Terry breathes out a long breath, because there are twenty Ravenclaws of various ages who are Disillusioned and hiding in an empty classroom not twenty feet away. Padma opens the door, twenty Ravenclaws sprint up to bed, and Terry collapses into the chair nearest to the fire and digs in the lining of his pocket for one of his emergency joints. His cat sits on his lap and purrs at him until he can breathe again.

* * *

The first Hogsmeade weekend of the new term is right in time for Valentine's Day dates. Anthony might not have a date, but he _does_ have a responsibility to the younger boys of Ravenclaw, badge or not, and right now that responsibility entails standing on a box supervising the boys in the restrooms arguing over sinks and cologne and razors. At first, he's polite. It lasts about four minutes.

“Alright!” he shouts. “I’m in charge. I’m still the Prefect. Dave, mate, you put any more cologne on and you're gonna knock your date out. Jake I _swear_ I will confiscate that if you do it again and you aren't supposed to have Weasley products anyway. Put that _down_ , you're gonna cut your own throat—”

“It's just a razor _—_ ” says Monty Holland indignantly, as Jake Hoang's Decoy Detonator makes a loud squawk and attempts to escape his grasp. It fails, and emits a horrible green gas. Someone swears vehemently.

"It's a menace, use a normal one," says Anthony.

“You know,” says Terry, hands in his pockets and watching from the door as boys scramble to get away from the gas, “I've never been as proud to say I've never had a girlfriend.”

Ian Bradley gives him two fingers up; Michael rolls his eyes. “That's because you're, you know.”

“Gay?” says Terry. He folds his arms. “I'm still not sure how anyone came to that conclusion about me.” This is untrue; he'd been pretty obvious about it once he'd turned fourteen.

“You told fifty people you had a crush on Harry Potter,” says Michael.

“There were only thirty people, Mike. And I worded it differently. And it was fourth year, he'd just outflown a fucking dragon, of _course_ I had a crush on him.”

They watch Anthony confiscate Jake's Decoy Detonator in silent amusement.

“Are you two gonna be helpful?” asks Anthony, who is trying to get Monty and Ian to share the sink.

“No,” they say in unison.

* * *

Professor Snape rarely attends meals, and when he does, it signifies an announcement. Sure enough, it's the sixteenth of February and he announces that the Ministry has authorized questioning of students with ties to “Muggleborn criminals” on the run.

Terry is the only one of them who is at risk of questioning, because they still don't know if Eliza Boot is on the run or in Azkaban or dead, and they sit up waiting for him to be summoned for questioning.

Terry doesn't particularly want to be summoned for questioning. Seamus Finnigan had come back with a black eye, though these days it's difficult to tell when he's getting his injuries. Hannah comes back with bruises on her arms. Even Stephen, who is keeping his nose squeaky clean, comes back with a split lip and refuses to talk about it.

But days pass and they don't call Terry in, and he sits moping, because it means his mother isn't on the run. He wishes he had something to smoke but he hasn't told either of his friends that he's picked it up again, and they're not leaving him alone. He supposes they're worried about him.

“Why are they even going _after_ Muggleborns,” complains Terry, his voice teetering on the verge of a whine. He prods his queen to start beating up Anthony's bishop. “If we just got rid of all the wizards related to Muggles, there'd probably be around two wizards left total—”

“It's ridiculous, honestly,” says Michael, who's sitting in the Common Room, chin cupped pensively in one hand. “This kind of wank happens time and time again and yet people act surprised.”

“You're not talking about chess, are you?” says Anthony. “I swear he's never won the same way twice.”

“No,” says Michael. “I mean the war.”

“Is that a metaphor for the chess?” says Anthony warily.

“Tony, the only one here smart enough to talk in metaphors is you,” says Terry. He moves a pawn. Anthony frowns at the pawn.

“I get it,” says Padma, who hadn't appeared to be listening.

“Yeah,” says Michael. “I mean, over and over there's someone who makes people afraid of other people and it ends badly.”

“You don't need to tell me,” says Anthony.

Terry takes Anthony's rook.

* * *

 _Supposing that I should have the courage_  
_To let a red sword of virtue_  
_Plunge into my heart,_  
_Letting to the weeds of the ground_  
_My sinful blood_

* * *

Ginny tells Terry in private that she's going to find a mission for him someday. Even though Anthony, one of his best friends in the world, is on the DA's leadership council, the whole group still seems to _not understand_ that doing nothing is insulting and boring _._ The whole council, that is, but Ginny.

Being the youngest and only girl of her family, he supposes she relates to this kind of itchy desperation to do something other than sit and wait for everyone else to come back. Once Terry had gotten so bored, he'd done all of Anthony's and Michael's homework for them.

But the DA isn't just the missions. Terry has a wicked Protego, and he spends an hour teaching it to a group of second year students. He spends a whole week brewing pain potion after pain potion in the Room, spooning it into bottles for emergencies. Professor Slughorn had mentioned his missing ingredients at the next Potions class, and Terry had had to fight to keep himself from grinning.

He turns eighteen two days later, and Michael and Anthony arrive in the Common Room last after their missions, Anthony holding a Cauldron Cake with a tiny flame floating over it in lieu of a candle and both of them looking pleased with themselves. The idiots.

“You shouldn't have,” says Terry, who's touched despite himself.

* * *

Ginny tells Terry he should come on the next mission; he asks her what it is and doesn't believe her when she tells him they're going to a party.

“It's a 'Support Harry Potter' party,” she says, her face stuck between exasperation and amusement and looking funnily like Hermione Granger.

“You're joking,” says Terry.

“I'm not,” she says. “We'll need good duellers, in case it gets busted. Which it will, because it's a horrible idea _._ Hell, we just need people who can run fast when it comes to it.”

“Whose idea was it?” says Terry, bemused. Who could _possibly_ not see the danger in this?

“Hagrid,” says Ginny.

“Ah,” says Terry, everything clear now. Hagrid rarely saw the danger in anything.

“We're only bringing older DA,” continues Ginny. “You can ask the seventh year Ravenclaws. But Hagrid's hut is tiny.”

“Okay,” says Terry, not even bothering to mention that Hagrid's hut could not be tiny, by virtue of it being Hagrid's.

* * *

 _What_ _can you offer me?_  
_A gardened castle?_  
_A flowery kingdom?_

* * *

He's a bit insulted that the first mission he's allowed on is what Michael calls the party mission, but it's a mission, he supposes, and so he, Anthony, Padma, and Morag set out at midnight to sneak out of the bloody castle to the most illegal party since the one they'd had after the Quidditch match when Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff in fifth year that had landed Terry in the Hospital Wing after he drank five Firewhiskeys and fell down the dorm stairs.

Michael hadn't come, because Ginny had mentioned they'd probably need to run for it and Michael is a lazy ass, but Morag is here. Terry likes Morag. Bad tempered, maybe, and funnier than him, which he hates, but she's nice enough.

There's a scare when they make it out of the castle, because there are a lot more Dementors than Terry expected, guarding the passages out of the school, but they climb out of an unattended window and make it to the hut.

Hagrid has locked the doors and covered the windows, and after some initial awkwardness, the party is in motion. Terry knows for a fact that the majority of Ravenclaw House doesn't think too highly of Hagrid (particularly Morag, who'd taken his class and still has scars from the Skrewts), but they drink butterbeer and choke on his rock cakes and they have a grand old time.

“You know, sometimes I think Hagrid was a Hufflepuff,” says Hannah, her voice low and conspiratorial. “It's that ridiculous loyalty thing. Wouldn't hear a word against those Bang-Ended Shorts, or whatever those things were called—”

“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” says Morag. “I still have the scars—”

“And then he does _this,_ ” continues Hannah. “Gryffindor. I'd put my wand on it.”

“We don't have the monopoly on dumb bravery,” says Lavender loftily, and Seamus laughs.

“I'm just saying,” says Terry. “You lot can have him, I just know he's not a Claw.”

“He could be,” points out Seamus, and he points at Terry with his butterbeer. “Experimental breeding. _You_ of all people should know about Ravenclaws and their experiments.”

Terry had once spent four months trying to make a cough potion that didn't make you drowsy; he'd succeeded, but he'd also melted two cauldrons, exploded another, and caused one to corrode so badly it'd had to be destroyed. And the resultant potion smelled like feet.

“How long until they bust the party, I wonder?” Anthony says in an undertone to Neville. Neville grins, but elbows him.

“Not in front of Hagrid,” he whispers.

“Given we're all risking Cruciatuses to be here tonight—”

“We risk Cruciatuses every time we do _anything_ ,” Neville points out. “And you're the worst Ravenclaw there is at the moment, don't give me that.”

“There's a world of difference between getting Cruciated over a smart mouth and getting Cruciated over some stupid party,” says Anthony, even though there isn't really.

Neville looks about to respond when there's a loud banging sound outside.

“Ministry of Magic!” shouts a voice. “Come out of the building with your hands up!”

The students inside freeze as suddenly as if they'd been hexed, Seamus almost falling over from where he'd been balancing on one foot reaching for the food. Terry doesn't dare to breathe.

“Told you so,” whispers Anthony, as Hagrid goes for the door.

“Go ou' the back,” he orders. “And go _fast!"_

Terry grabs Morag's arm—she’s freezing up—and they run around to the back.

“Heard you were having a little party in support of a criminal,” says Amycus Carrow's voice at the door. Anthony, Hannah, and Padma start Disillusioning people; only halfway invisible, they start sprinting away.

“Look there!” shouts a Death Eater—Terry, almost completely invisible, almost stops running to gawk at the sheer number of them there are, at least a dozen around Hagrid's door—and then there are Stunning Spells being shot at them and a full on duel erupting between Hagrid and half of the Death Eaters.

“Split up!” comes Ginny's disembodied voice. “Everyone go to their House, there's no time to count—tell us on the Galleons if anyone's not accounted for!”

And they sprint.

“What is a—”

“Magic!” says Terry without waiting. The door accepts it.

“Are we all here?” pants Morag.

They are all there; Anthony and Padma start turning them visible again. Terry's still clutching his glasses onto his face, and he gasps, barely enough breath to force the words out, “Go up—pyjamas—they’ll be around anytime now—”

The girls nod and sprint up to their dorms. Stephen is kindly pretending not to be awake and aware that they'd been out after curfew. Michael has kindly left their pyjamas out on their beds; Anthony almost rips his sleeve forcing his arm in, and they throw themselves into bed, still breathing hard. Michael, who had been doing Anthony's Charms homework, gets the lights.

* * *

  _What? A hope?_  
_Then hence with your red sword of virtue._

* * *

[Poem: _Supposing that I should have the courage,_ by Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading!]


	8. The Fools

Nobody got caught, which Michael hails as a miracle. Sure, the Carrows had gotten to Gryffindor while Seamus and Lavender were still in the Common Room bickering over who should stay behind to stall the Carrows while the rest were changing into pyjamas, but that had been a matter of breaking curfew, not attending an illegal party.

Hagrid disappears; Ginny speculates that he's gone into the Forbidden Forest or something like that. Terry's glad he's alive, but really, he isn't surprised. It'd been a spectacularly stupid move. Neville says that he wishes they knew where, so they could help him out. Michael says in an undertone to Terry that they're better off with Hagrid missing, so he doesn't try throwing any more parties.

It is March fifth, and Anthony and Terry are playing chess. “Honestly, Mike, you're a weird bloke,” says Terry. “Not many chicken ranchers I know who are also intellectuals. And Pakistani.”

“I'm not a _chicken rancher_ ,” says Michael, who mostly objects to the idea that he'd sell any of his chickens for food. “We just own chickens.”

“I think once you own fifty chickens, you're a rancher,” says Terry reasonably.

Michael, who is sitting on the couch over the chess game, pokes Terry in the back of the head. “Terry, thirty-eight is less than fifty. How the fuck did you pass Arithmancy?”

Terry almost knocks the chessboard with his knee when he turns around to swat Michael’s hand back. He and Anthony are sitting cross legged on the floor with the game between them; it's not a position that allows for much movement. “I got through Arithmancy with a _very_ helpful best friend.”

“I still hold that's academic dishonesty,” says Michael, shaking his head. “Questionably moral. Morally questionable.”

“Passed, didn't I?” says Terry, who'd only barely passed anyway.

“Exactly,” says Michael, who is a firm believer that a pass is a pass, and academic dishonesty is academic dishonesty.

“It's not _punishable_ academic dishonesty,” Anthony chimes in. “Hogwarts rulebook doesn't discuss helping classmates with homework. Just exams.” Anthony has got the rulebook committed to memory, because he's the most annoying type of Prefect. Anthony had needed to be reassured that it wasn’t against the rules before he’d helped Terry on anything.

“You're not helping my case,” Michael tells Anthony, who is unaffected by Michael's plight.

“Anyway, gets you thinking,” says Terry. “What a weird group we are.”

“Sure,” says Michael.

“I'll drink to that,” says Anthony, who doesn't have a drink.

“You're an intellectual chicken rancher, Tony's an average middle-class Jew, my parents are smugglers—”

“We're literally in an illegal student army,” says Michael. “It's not like this is a normal school.”

* * *

The next DA group caught on a mission is Parvati Patil's—Parvati, Demelza Robbins, and Ian Bradley. Two nights later, Hannah Abbott, Vicky Frobisher, and Dennis Creevey. After Demelza knocked a tureen of pumpkin juice on Snape, he had ordered a different method, so the students are lined around the room and the punishments are carried out right in the center of the Great Hall.

They don’t want to risk being caught again. The Carrows have sensed that as they use the Cruciatus more, it gets less effective. Out of necessity their curses are more severe with each offense.

Anthony, Terry, Hannah, and Padma sit around a table, Hannah's and Padma's maps of Prefect and Death Eater patrols spread out, Charmed quills and inkpots marking different routes.

The DA starts doing missions in their socks, which makes it harder to run but easier to creep past patrols. Terry and Anthony do experiments in empty hallways to test how far away _Homenum Revelio_ can reach. Padma takes notes on how much percent error they can allow when accounting for Death Eater patrols. Anthony asks Michael to research the wards that Snape puts on the Great Hall and his office.

“We can't back down,” Ginny says, when the oldest members of the DA meet to discuss their problems without worrying the younger members.

“After six caught in one week?” says Hannah. “They've already increased patrols, it's almost impossible to get anything done as is—”

“We can't let them think they can beat us,” argues Ginny. “We can't back down now, when we mean so much—”

“They can beat us, though,” says Michael. “Sooner or later somebody's gonna get hurt badly enough to scare everyone off, and then we stop being a symbol of resistance and start being scapegoats.”

* * *

Over the next few weeks, anyone “suspicious” is brought in for questioning about illegal activities. This includes every single seventh year not in Slytherin, and a good number of the sixth and fifth years. Snape seems to have told the Carrows to steer clear of using curses solely as incentive, since that's probably still illegal, and so all they and the other Death Eaters can do is point their wands threateningly and taunt, but it's still nerve-wracking. A few of the students are Cruciated anyway, but it's for insulting the Carrows and not for lack of information. These students don't include Michael, Anthony, or Terry, but Seamus leaves his interrogation with two half-formed black eyes and a split lip and a smile of grim amusement.

“At least they can't do anything really bad unprovoked,” says Anthony, that night in the Common Room. “No torture, anyway.” It's a hollow comfort; all three of them are still rattled. Terry's hands are jittery; he wishes fleetingly for a joint. Smoking used to calm him down.

His mind keeps straying to Alecto's taunts.

Sometimes he really wishes he'd had different parents, if only because it's him who pays for their work in the end, but he can't deny that they've taught him an awful lot. How to hide things. How to lie to authorities. How to stay very very quiet. How to look carefully at people and try to root out the ones who'd buy. How to blend in.

But still, he's fully aware that a lot of what they do is illegal for good reason. He may have a healthy disrespect for authority, but he's smart enough to know that.

“Well, it makes you think, doesn't it? Stakes are higher, sure, but so are the ways they're getting their information. If they start torturing kids for information, we're gonna get sold out, no question,” says Michael.

“Maybe,” says Anthony. “Michael, it's still a school. They can't just start torturing kids without reason, there'd be outrage.”

“Who would know?” says Michael. “They're reading our mail.”

“Word gets out,” says Anthony, who has been victim to the Hogwarts rumour mill enough to have absolute faith in the power of gossip. “Look, their priority isn't us. It's teaching people to submit and hate Muggles, and it's preserving pure blood. They can't preserve pure blood if they kill their students.”

Michael and Anthony get along so well because they are both so argumentative, but their fights have a tense awareness in them since September, an uncomfortable understanding that they both have a much greater stake in this conflict.

“Easy for you to say,” says Terry, more as an observation than an accusation. Anthony and Michael are both middle class and respectable, even if Anthony’s mother’s a Muggle. They have enough clout in the wizarding world to be respected.

“It's a _war_ ,” says Michael. “They're not going to care about what's moral. You think they're following Ministry ordinances when they're interrogating Muggleborns and blood traitors? They don't _care_ about what people will say about their methods. They already tortured Finnigan over—"

“People start saying the right things, the Ministry'll have an uprising on its hands,” says Anthony. “They don't want that.”

“Because the comfortable halfbloods and Purebloods are so _likely_ to stand up against a regime that's protecting them,” says Michael. He knows they're not; he's from a family of them. “If they can get away with torturing us over vandalism or, or talking back or—”

“They can't get away with an actual war crime,” insists Anthony.

“They already are,” says Michael. “Look at how many families are in prison—”

“Hey,” says Terry. “I’m right here.”

Terry looks exhausted, even though he's got his feet on the table and his head tipped back, and so Michael takes his cue and changes the subject.

* * *

  _Why do you strive for greatness, fool?_  
_Go pluck a bough and wear it._  
_It is as sufficing._

* * *

It's stupid and he knows it, but Michael is desperately tired of the DA. Ginny keeps telling them they need to do _more_ every day, when they're already doing too much, and Neville keeps backing her up, and they don't listen to Anthony and Hannah when they say it's too risky to keep going. Michael isn't brave. Michael knows that a lot of the DA would say the same thing. He's just smart enough to know what's not right, and too invested in this goddamn war to watch it unfold without doing something.

But really, doing something had started out as “learning spells for defense” and maybe “standing up to the Carrows” every now and then. Now it's about vandalising the school, about antagonising the Carrows, and it's stupid. They go on missions to the dungeons, nightly, but those are risky and dangerous and ultimately pointless, too, because they aren't _helping_ anyone, they're just making the Carrows mad.

He tries to bring it up to Terry one day, but Terry just shrugs. “You wanna tell Ginny she's going about this the wrong way, you go on,” he says, and pops a jelly bean into his mouth. He grimaces horribly and swallows it. “Tripe,” he says, as explanation. “Me? I'm not telling Ginny Weasley anything, so I can keep my head attached to my neck.”

Michael folds his arms. “I know how to keep my head on my neck with Ginny,” he says. “Dated her for a year, didn't I?”

“Yeah,” says Terry. He eats another bean and nods. “Grass, I think. Then Ginny Weasley went and became Harry Potter's girlfriend, got on the Gryffindor team, fought off a bunch of Death Eaters on two separate occasions at _least_ , and restarted the DA. Mike, mate, you were dealing with Ginny before she was scary.”

“I'm not going to try to _fight_ her,” says Michael.

“You are,” insists Terry. “Just don't come asking me to reattach your head.”

But Michael is not brave, and so he doesn't approach Ginny about it.

The DA sends out more missions. Nobody's caught; Michael shakes his head and says it's only going to make things worse.

* * *

_My Lord, there are certain barbarians_  
_Who tilt their noses_  
_As if the stars were flowers,_  
_And Thy servant is lost among their shoe-buckles._  
_Fain would I have mine eyes even with their eyes._

* * *

It's almost Easter holiday. Terry tells Michael that he doesn't want to interrupt Michael's family celebrations, even though Michael and his family aren't Christian and don't care about Easter. Terry has no intent to tell Michael about his little confrontation with Michael's dad, but even Michael could see the animosity between them by the end of the holiday, so Michael doesn't try to argue Terry's choice.

“Besides, the chickens scare me,” says Terry, a half-hearted joke. The only chicken that scares him is one named Rory, because she's devoted to Michael and doesn't trust Terry.

“They're not scary,” says Michael indignantly. “You've literally been tortured, they shouldn't be scary—”

“So have you, and you're still scared of bugs,” shoots back Terry.

Anthony's parents and siblings and grandparents send him disappointed letters and pleas to come home. He sends them carefully crafted refusals. I have work here, he says. I have responsibilities. I'm a Prefect. I'm not leaving the Ravenclaw kids with nobody there to look after them.

They send him disappointed letters of understanding and he stays at Hogwarts.

* * *

Michael and his father barely exchange two words over the break. Michael's mother asks him why it is, and he shrugs, because he can't explain it either.

“You're worrying me,” she says, frowning up at him. “You aren't talking, you aren't eating, you jump a lot—”

“There's a war on,” he says. It's a feeble excuse. His mum puts her hands on her hips but doesn't argue him.

He escapes to the chicken coop and sits on the floor with his Charms textbook, just because it's out of the house. Fang nudges at his hands, which makes him feel better, but not much.

Michael misses having Terry around, because Terry never shuts up and it's comforting, the amount of meaningless prattling about Quidditch or the Carrows or whether Celestina Warbeck really deserves to be as famous as she is if her voice is okay but her songs are _awful._ It's a selfish wish, because he knows Terry is uncomfortable at his house. He doesn't know what Terry did or said that made his father hate him so completely, but his father is easy to anger and that Terry, for all his meaningless prattling, has a knack for saying exactly the wrong, utterly truthful things.

But it's still lonesome, here with only his six year old sister to spend the time with and his father he's avoiding and his mother who would never understand. Besides, it's not like he can tell them anything.

What would he say? He'd been tortured for spilled ink once but what would his parents do about it? Hogwarts and the Ministry are under the Death Eaters' control and there is nobody who can help Hogwarts.

Two years ago, when Michael had first started dating Ginny, his father had told him he wasn't happy, that the Weasleys were trouble and the Weasley girl worst of all. His father was kind of right, which just kills Michael.

* * *

Anthony and Terry exhaust conversation topics after a time. There's only so much talk of the war they can do, especially because Terry freezes up and stops talking if the subject strays to Muggleborn imprisonment. They play chess, but it's not as fun without Michael to make comments on their game.

“You know,” says Terry, “I tried to tell his dad about it. Not about the torture or anything. But, I tried to tell him it's not just about Michael.”

“It is for him,” points out Anthony. Mr. Corner loved Anthony, because Anthony was sensible, respectable, and a Prefect. “He doesn't know about the DA.”

Terry shrugs. “Probably wasn't a good idea,” he admits. "Wanna hear something dumb, though?"

“I guess," says Anthony. “Can I have a bean?”

Terry hands him a bean. "I really thought he might have listened."

* * *

  _Fool, go pluck a bough and wear it._

* * *

 [Poem: _Why do you strive for greatness, fool?_ , by Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading!]


	9. Opinion

One night, Megan Jones disappears from her bed in the middle of the night; Sally-Anne says that it must be like what had happened to Luna, because Meg's mother is in the Order of the Phoenix. Three days later, so do Eleanor Branstone and Jack Sloper.

“Their parents are doing _things_ I guess,” says Sally-Anne. “We should have expected it. After Luna.”

“There's nothing we can do,” says Anthony, and Sally-Anne nods.

“Yeah,” she says, quiet. “Nothing we can do.”

* * *

 The only seventh years at Hogwarts for the holiday are Anthony, Terry, Lavender Brown, and Sally-Anne Perks. (And Megan, before.) Terry understands that, of course. It's not as if he _wants_ to be here. But it's a sight better than the Corners, because even though he likes Hafsa, he and Michael's father hate each other, and as much as he wishes he could go home, Terry doesn't want to go to an empty apartment.

It's not a proper meeting, but the DA gets together on Easter Sunday. They don't learn spells or practice charms or anything; they sit in a circle with butterbeer that Sally smuggles from the kitchens and they trade stories.

Terry has a whole wealth of inappropriate jokes about various sexual activities and wizarding equipment, but after the first joke, Anthony bans him from storytelling. Terry shares his Bertie Bott's stash instead. Lavender teaches everyone how to make bracelets out of thread. Anthony sits on the floor with a group of third years and plays Gobstones. They listen to Potterwatch, and then they listen to inappropriate rock music.

They leave in small clusters, because the Carrows are still out in the school terrorising people.

Michael's father asks Michael how are his studies going and Michael almost laughs at him.

* * *

Ginny doesn't return after the Easter holidays; Michael says pensively that it makes perfect sense. The entire Weasley family is in hiding now. Potterwatch says that Harry Potter has been confirmed alive and on the run, as of the Friday before Easter, and Michael suspects that he got spotted with Ron Weasley.

Anthony sits with Hannah in the Room and they discuss what to do now, with Ginny and Luna both gone. Neville sits between then, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrow and looking far older than seventeen, and Anthony is struck by how awfully much Neville seems to have grown up. He looks to Anthony and Hannah, but more to confirm his decisions, not for help making them.

Neville discovers on accident three days into the term that the Room can create new passageways in the castle that go pretty much anywhere, after finding a door that led to the greenhouses. The very next day, he figures out how to adapt it to the DA's purposes.

The benefits of these passageways are that a group of three can go on a very concise mission: one person waits in the passageway while the others mark the wall and stand watch. As long as there's someone in the passageway, it remains open.

These are useful for a number of reasons- someone can open doors to set locations in the castle to let people in for DA meetings, which saves the Hufflepuffs the trouble of going all the way to the seventh floor, and the Room can deposit them back in their own Common Rooms.

Terry loves this new feature of the Room, because he gets to go on missions—though it's true that as of yet, he's only been allowed to be the member of the group who keeps the passageways open.

Seamus, Neville, and Hannah put the usual “Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting” on the wall behind the staff table, even though by now, the DA is some hundred members strong and the recruiting efforts have slowed. They aren't caught, and, by Professor Snape's reaction when he gets to breakfast the next morning, they hadn't set off the wards, either.

It's a victory, of course, but Michael walks with his hands in his pockets and his head low and says it's going to keep getting worse.

“That's cheerful,” says Anthony dryly. After seven years they have grown to expect pessimism from Michael.

“I mean it,” he says, miffed that Anthony doesn't seem to be taking it seriously. “They're going to get desperate. They need it to stop and all they've done is provoke more rebellion. I bet You-Know-Who isn't all that chuffed they haven't gotten it to stop already, anyway, and if _he's_ unhappy, they're unhappy.”

The implication is clear- it has been months and by now they all know how Death Eaters treat failure.

“You'd think,” says Terry, “that once you've gone through that, you'd refuse to inflict it on others.”

“You'd be surprised,” says Michael.

“Yeah,” says Terry, who feels vaguely ill. He really needs something to smoke.

He pulls the knocker back and lets it drop; the voice, usually chill, is icy. He feels worse then, for being mean to the knocker. “What's a boggart's truest form?”

Terry is too tired for anything snappy. “A clown,” he suggests.

“Nice try,” says the knocker, and Anthony clears his throat. “A boggart alone will become its own worst fear.”

Terry grunts in distrust, but the door accepts it.

* * *

For two days after they work around the wards, there's no announcement, no tightening of rules, no loss of privileges. They send out a mission every night- one mission finds that there's a guard in the the Great Hall, but they Stun him and mark the wall before the wards can be set off.

In a fit of gallantry, Ernie Macmillan had insisted that they leave the Death Eater on guard with a pillow; they leave a pillow and a note that reads “Better luck next time!”

The Carrows are furious; in the next few days of classes, anyone who breathes out of turn is threatened. Michael gets Cruciated for flinching away from Alecto; Anthony asks Amycus how many OWLs he'd gotten and gets Cruciated, then swatted hard on the back of the head with his own textbook.

“That was stupid,” says Michael, but he's smiling tersely. Terry grunts in agreement, inspecting the half-formed knot on Anthony's head.

“You should hear the stories about Seamus Finnigan,” says Anthony, his voice thick.

The school is out of control; not only are there new DA missions every night (and the Carrows can't figure out how the fuck they're getting into the Great Hall without setting off the wards) but half of the school seems to have decided to follow in the footsteps of Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley.

It's a miracle to Michael, that the school is striking back, because he has never really had much faith in people. Not when they have everything to lose and nothing to gain. And yet he walks through the halls and sees student after student who's all too clearly mouthed off sometime, and he swells with a kind of pride. 

Maybe it's that he's easily impressed; maybe it's because he's a coward and he respects the people who aren't, but it's nothing short of a miracle, these children standing up and fighting back.

He is a little envious of the students who can be brave or noble without a second thought. It had taken him an hour to work himself up to cracking one inappropriate joke, and he'd chickened out at the last second anyway. To see Seamus Finnigan for example mouthing off constantly without seeming bothered by the detentions, it was marvelous. Awe-inspiring.

A little like watching a train wreck, really, but incredible all the same.

* * *

_Once there was a man -_  
_Oh, so wise!_  
_In all drink_  
_He detected the bitter,_  
_And in all touch_  
_He found the sting._

* * *

 It might be a miracle or whatever Mike calls it, but it's nothing less than a nightmare for Terry, who's saddled with all the injuries accrued by Ravenclaws who fancy themselves smart.

“I'm running out of dittany,” he complains, in the dorm one night. “And Morag started learning Healing spells but we're nowhere near good enough, the rate these kids are getting themselves hurt-”

Detentions have warped into horror shows, students pulled out of their classes to be used as target practice in Dark Arts, locked in the dungeons overnight, Cruciated during meals. Even minor offenses- dress codes, or missing homework or talking or lateness- are met with disproportionate violence.

It's a nightmare for Anthony too, only because every time he sees another kid with another injury he wants to cry and hit his head on a wall, even though he supposes at least some of this is his fault. Leading by example and all that.

But it's also a nightmare for Snape, which is what really matters, so Anthony shakes his head at the younger students and says nothing.

It's April twelfth when Snape announces that suspicious individuals are going to be brought to the dungeons overnight for interrogation about their activities. It's not surprising that the first people to be called in are Neville and Seamus.

“It's literally inhumane,” says Michael, shaking his head. “They're _literally_ torturing people for information. It's a war crime—”

“We know,” says Terry tersely.

“When this regime falls,” says Anthony, his voice low, “they'll be tried and imprisoned for it.”

“There's no _when,_ ” says Michael. “There's _if._ And it's a less likely _if_ every day.”

“Don't say that,” says Terry quietly.

Michael makes a noise that could have been a laugh. “Open your _eyes,_ Terry. You can't go through life pretending everything's going to work out perfect—”

“Just stop acting like it's all over, okay?” snaps Terry, and Michael's almost startled into dropping the topic, just because Terry rarely gets angry enough to truly snap.

“I'm not,” he says, anyway, and he scowls. “Just because I can see what's happening right in front of us—”

“Oh, drag my _eyes_ into it—” says Terry, caught somewhere between a scoff and a growl. Michael's mouth opens of its own accord.

“That's not what I meant,” he says, fumbling, and Terry springs to his feet.

“Then what do you mean? Go on then, tell me I'm stupid for wanting something to hope for—”

Michael stands up too. It's a stupid thing to be bothered by, but Terry's five inches taller than him and he feels short and childish. There are people watching them, Padma's mouth is open, Anthony's lost all power of motion.

“You're stupid for acting like this isn't a war,” snaps Michael, frustration fizzling somewhere in his chest. Anthony says his name; he ignores it.

“Wars aren't won overnight,” retorts Terry. “Just because it's not looking like it's in our favour after _a few months—_ ”

“Stop acting like this war is going to be fair,” says Michael, and his voice almost rises, but breaks instead. “It's not _fair—_ ”

“You think I don't know that?” says Terry, his voice strange. “I've got a damn better idea than you do how unfair this war is _—_ ”

“Then act like you know that,” bites Michael. "You're such an idiot!" Anthony says his name louder; he ignores it again. There's a moment of silence.

“And you're a coward,” says Terry, almost calmly. He takes a deep breath and, to his frustration, feels tears starting to form in his eyes. He turns on his heel and walks quickly to the restrooms.

* * *

  _At last he cried thus:_  
_'There is nothing -_  
_No life,_  
_No joy,_  
_No pain -_

* * *

“Look what you did,” says Anthony, barely bothering to make himself sound angry. He's not really. It's just frustrating that his friends can fight and he can do nothing about it.

“Oh, you too?” snaps Michael, sitting on the sofa next to Padma. She turns away hastily, reopening her book, and Michael suddenly feels awful. He puts his head in his hands and breathes out a long breath; Terry is right and Michael had mocked him for holding out hope.

And really, Terry needed that hope, didn't he? Terry's hope was for his parents—something a damn sight more personal and awful than anything that the war has taken from Michael. He resists the urge to groan.

Terry splashes water on his face, but it takes one splash to break the metaphorical dam, and then his glasses are abandoned in the sink and there's nothing but the faintest blur of white and gray through his tears, and he wonders, alone in the bathroom, if Michael is right.

* * *

_There is nothing save opinion,_  
_And opinion be damned._ '

* * *

[Poem: _Once there was a man_ , by Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading!]


	10. Into The Darkness Again

They both tell Anthony that they're sorry, that they wish they hadn't fought. He tells them he's not the one to apologize to, and they avoid his gaze.

They're so alike it hurts, sometimes, and Anthony throws his hands up in frustration and avoids both of them for the rest of the day, complains extensively to Padma about his dumb friends, goes on a walk around the castle checking all the usual snogging niches before the Carrows can do it.

Anthony, along with Hannah Abbott and Parvati Patil, gets hauled to the dungeons that afternoon for interrogation. It's going to be rather hellish, but honestly it'd be better than sitting around in the Common Room waiting for his idiot friends to make up.

When Anthony's gone, Terry tries to poke his head through Michael's drapes. There's a shield charm around the bed; it shocks Terry when he touches it. He fixes his hair and pokes the shield with his wand.

“Mike, I know you're up.”

“Yeah,” says Michael, who is lying on his back with a book open on his face.

“I'm sorry I called you a coward,” says Terry. “You were right.”

“No,” said Michael. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you an idiot.”

“It was stupid,” says Terry.

“It wasn't stupid,” mumbles Michael.

“Nah,” says Terry.

* * *

 Anthony comes back covered in bruises and small cuts and tiny wand burns. Michael gets him a cup of tea. Terry gets him a bowl of Murtlap.

“Been three days,” says Anthony. “And there's still months left in the year—”

“You reckon they're gonna keep calling kids until someone talks?” says Terry, blotting at a row of gashes on Anthony's arm. Anthony sighs in relief.

“Bloody hell. Yeah, I do.”

"Is Parvati okay?" says Padma, from the other chair. 

"Yeah," says Anthony. "She's alright."

“Least they didn't keep you in overnight,” Michael says. The kids who are kept in the dungeons overnight come out looking worse than Anthony. Demelza Robbins had broken her ankle overnight. Seamus Finnigan had chipped a tooth and broken two ribs.

“Speaking of,” murmurs Anthony, lowering his voice. “While I was down there they brought in a few kids, there's a mission tonight.”

“Right,” says Michael.

Anthony had been in the dungeons overnight on one occasion; the DA rescue missions had taken him out of the chains holding his arms above his head so he could rest his shoulders, they'd brought him a snack, they'd healed his scraped knees, they'd given him a pillow. They send groups of four students, usually. One to bring pillows and snacks, one to heal any injuries, one to unlock the chains, one to wait in the passage.

The Carrows, after these missions, are furious when they come to the dungeons to see that the wards failed again, that the guards were useless again, that the DA had struck again. They'd tried, but all the questioning in the world didn't help, because the DA members had covered their faces and spoken very little.

“Who?” asks Terry.

“I didn't recognise them. Gryffindors, maybe third or fourth year.”

Terry nods.

* * *

The school keeps getting worse. Neville Longbottom is at the heart of it all, and the Carrows finally seem to have realised it. As the DA graffiti stunts and rescue missions and idiotic Gryffindor comments continue mounting, Neville starts getting Cruciated and targeted almost every day.

Someone pours Doxy venom on the seat of Amycus's chair. Everyone in Gryffindor who's over 15 is given a detention. Someone throws a Dungbomb into the dungeons after hours for the Carrows to find. The Carrows prolong breakfast to yell at the school. Someone leaves a gift basket of shampoo and conditioner outside Snape's office. The Carrows have Neville publicly Cruciated in the middle of the Great Hall; before they're done with their “demonstration,” someone sets off Weasley firecrackers right in the room.

“How d'you reckon they're gonna pin this on Neville?” asks Terry, aiming Vanishing spells at them and watching them multiply.

“Don't,” says Michael. “They'll catch you.”

“Vanishing them, aren't I?” says Terry. “Just doing my duty to the school. Tony, you're a Prefect, you ought to help me out _—_ ”

“Not anymore,” says Anthony, who is only a Prefect when it suits him. He watches the Carrows hurry around the Great Hall, wands out and furiously cursing the fireworks and the students showing the most open glee. Hannah, Seamus, and three of the Heads of House are kneeling by Neville, who's sitting up already, looking rather drowsy and a bit worse for the wear but insisting that he's fine.

Terry shrugs and points a Vanishing spell at the one Amycus is fighting. It multiplies; Amycus stumbles backwards, eyes popping out. Anthony almost laughs; it's tempting to find the whole spectacle funny, but Neville is still in the middle of the floor with Hannah holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to his forehead and it's not funny, not at all. It's not just a prank anymore. It's a declaration of loyalty; it's treachery.

“They'll say he asked his friends to do it,” says Michael. “Now he's gone and made a mockery of his own punishment.”

“The Carrows are losing control of the school,” says Anthony, watching a spinning Catherine wheel chase Filch around the room. 

“That they are,” whispers Michael, and he looks at Professor McGonagall, whose face is turned upwards at the fireworks, equal parts fear and pride. “That they are.”

* * *

The fireworks show is tracked down to a second year Gryffindor, who has long legs and a round face and looks younger than she is.

“It was moronic,” says Michael, shaking his head. “Merlin.” He doesn't quite mean it. It's the sort of symbolic genius they've come to expect from Gryffindors.

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown tell the Carrows that it'd been them and the two of them are publicly Cruciated the next day. Nobody sets off fireworks this time; Seamus Finnigan paces back and forth in the crowd of students and Michael has to close his eyes after three minutes.

That afternoon, a letter for Neville gets brought to the DA meeting by a funny little house-elf with a stained blue dress, and Neville reads it and closes his eyes.

“They went after my gran,” he says, and there's a small chorus of confusion from the assembled DA, which clusters around quickly, abandoning the practice drills. Terry takes a moment to restore his hexed hand to its usual capabilities. Hannah and Anthony are at Neville's side in an instant.

“Makes sense, really,” says Anthony quietly, so the others don't hear.

“Figure it's like what happened with Luna and Meg,” says Neville grimly.

“Is she okay?” asks Hannah, putting one hand gently on Neville's shoulder.

“Yeah. They sent Dawlish _—_ ” Neville grins. “Bet they figured she was useless. Dawlish is in hospital now.”

Neville claps his hands once and addresses the DA. “She's okay! They only sent one person, she outduelled him. This means they're like to go after other families too _—_ any of you who are especially trouble, be careful.”

Anthony shuts his eyes, but he figures he's nowhere near as troublesome as Neville. Terry and Michael exchange a grim look. Terry raises his eyebrows and Michael shrugs. Neither of them really know what either gesture means.

“You know what this means, though?” says Neville softly, so that Anthony has to strain to catch it.

“What?” asks Hannah.

“They're gonna stop at nothing to get this school back under control,” says Neville. “Kidnapping families. Next thing they'll be arresting kids.”

“You're gonna be the first to go,” says Hannah in a hushed, worried voice.

Anthony winces.

“Yeah,” says Neville, nodding. “Yeah, I am.”

* * *

The dungeon missions still meet, after curfew, and tonight in the dungeons is nobody but a Slytherin first year. Neville had been wary at first, worrying that the kid would rat them out, but Hannah says that it's the best way to show that the DA won't turn away Slytherins who need help, and so the mission proceeds as usual.

It's Michael, Hannah, and Seamus, since there's only one person in the dungeons tonight, and Michael gets to the Room first and opens the door to each of the other Common Rooms to let Seamus and Hannah in.

“You sure you wanna go?” says Neville, who's waiting up. He gives Seamus a frown, gaze sweeping from Seamus's bruised face to his frayed robes to the bruises and cuts on what little of his arms you could see. Seamus shakes his hands and lets the sleeves hide them.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” he says.

“Take care,” says Neville. “Don't do anything stupid.”

“Rich, coming from you,” says Seamus.

“Not like you're any better, is it?” retorts Neville, who is sitting grinning with one leg stretched out in front of him.

* * *

Seamus stays in the passage as Michael and Hannah creep carefully out for the mission. They Stun the guards with little hassle.

“Why are you helping me?” asks the first-year, hands wiggling restlessly in their cuffs. Michael unlocks them quickly and hands the kid a blanket and a Pumpkin Pasty and glances at Hannah to answer.

She doesn't answer, just puts a finger over her mouth.

“Well, thanks,” says the first year.

Michael and Hannah nod together.

There's a noise, then, and Hannah jumps. “What was-” starts Seamus from the door to the passageway.

“Seamus, stay put,” orders Hannah, who is Neville's second in command and outranks both of them. Michael cringes at her use of his name and hopes that this kid won't rat on them.

Merlin knows Seamus Finnigan doesn't need more detention.

The door bangs open.

Michael bangs the door back shut and _Engorgios_ it until it's snugly lodged in the doorframe, and then he, Hannah, and Seamus are back in the passage listening to the Carrows bickering faintly, all three of them breathing hard.

They'll blame the kid, thinks Michael. They'll blame that kid- eleven or twelve or whatever- for everything the DA has done all year and everything the DA just did tonight. It's been like that all year- the DA does shit and the entire school gets punished. It isn't fair and it isn't right and for once Michael's tired of accepting that the world isn't ever going to be fair or right.

He makes his decision, and before he even really considers it, he's back out of the passageway.

“Michael!” hisses Seamus. “Michael, get-”

“Just go, I'll get _—_ ” but the door to the dungeons splinters into pieces. Michael puts a Shield Charm around himself and the first year. From the corner of his eye, he sees Hannah swing the door shut again.

“What are you _doing_?” demands the first year, giving Michael a petrified, incredulous look.

“Saving your arse,” says Michael, too nervous to think of anything more eloquent.

Conjure another door, wedge it into the frame as best he can when there are still splinters and shards in it. Summon the kid's wand from the shelf it's put on and stick it in his hand. Whip a handkerchief out of his pocket onto the floor and Charm it _Portus_ and flick his wand and send it into the first year's hand. The kid's going to Gryffindor _—_ Neville, still waiting up for Seamus, will think of something to do.

They make it through the other door just in time to see Michael in black and the kid disappearing, and Michael raises his wand, because his move has been made and the best thing he can do now is kill time until Hannah and Seamus make it back to their dorms.

* * *

  _Then suddenly there was a great light -_  
_“Let me into the darkness again.”_

* * *

 [Poem: _I was in the darkness_ , by Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading!]


	11. The Mountains

Terry's taken to keeping his Galleon in his pyjama pocket in case of bad news, and it burns on his chest and he wakes up.

He fumbles for his glasses and knocks them down; he gets out of bed and feels at the floor until he finds them. Even with the glasses, though, he can't read the tiny script on them, so he goes to wake up Michael. Michael isn't back from the mission yet. He goes to ask Anthony.

“Anthony,” he whispers. "Tony. Tony Tony Tony.” He carefully gives Anthony a little shake, then gets impatient and smacks Anthony on the side. “Anthony!”

“What the _—_ ” says Anthony, blocking his face and squinting at Terry's lit wand. “Yeah?”

“What's it say?”

“Can't this wait until morning?” groans Anthony. He takes the coin and squints, grabs Terry's hand and adjusts the light.

“'AG TB pls respond, HA,” he says. “That's… us. From Hannah..”

“Send ‘yes,’” says Terry urgently.

Anthony does and waits, suddenly full of an uneasy panic. He takes a short breath.

“What?” says Terry.

“MC caught,” says Anthony.

“MC,” repeats Terry. “Michael.”

“Yeah,” sighs Anthony.

* * *

 

He loses the duel, of course. He's outmatched and outnumbered, and even though he holds his ground for what he hopes is long enough for Hannah and Seamus to get back to their rooms, he is terrified and unable to fight well. When Snape gets there the Carrows are already trying to find out where he'd sent the Slytherin. Snape talks quietly to the Carrows and they leave.

"Where did you send him?" Snape repeats. Michael is silent.

"For both of our sakes," says Snape, "I'm sorry to hear that." In the darkness it almost sounds genuine.

The next day is Thursday the sixteenth. Michael spends the day in the dungeons with his arms stuck chained over his head. He is released twice to use the restroom and given one meal. He feels gross, because he hasn't showered and because he's been sweating nervously for hours, but there's nothing he can do for that with no wand, so he tells himself that after he's Cruciated, he'll be able to shower.

Neville corners Anthony and Terry on their way to breakfast and tells them that if they see Michael, to tell him that the first year is staying in the Room for now. “I've gotten through to the Order,” he says. “They'll get him somewhere safe for the rest of the year.”

“Right,” says Terry, feeling sick.

There is nothing to do in the dungeons but talk to himself and change the way he's sitting. He keeps himself reasonably sane by reciting every mnemonic he's memorized for every class he's taken. Whistles his mother's most obnoxious jazz tunes. Sings the theme song to the Auror Erwin radio dramas. It's tuneless and badly paced, but it's something. Tells himself he'll be okay.

It's a lie, and a shaky one at that. But it's something.

* * *

_Once I saw mountains angry,_  
_And ranged in battle-front._  
_Against them stood a little man;_  
_Aye, he was no bigger than my finger._

* * *

They all know, by now, but Snape still explains to the assembled students that Michael had interrupted school disciplinary practices and kidnapped a younger student et cetera et cetera. The Carrows come into the Great Hall. Michael's trailing behind them. By his gait, there's nothing unusual going on, but his hands are trembling at the buttons of his robes when he smooths them. He is diffident enough to look smaller than he is.

“We thought we'd make this an educational opportunity,” says Amycus. “Who here can tell me what the Cruciatus curse does?”

He means it as an open question, probably, but it's Michael who answers. “Causes pain. People who use it go to Azkaban for life.”

It's probably not intended as cheekiness, of course, just Michael being Michael, but Alecto flushes angrily. Amycus continues.

“Add two together and what happens?”

“Adding more Cruciatus curses increases the effect exponentially,” says Michael. “Use of the Cruciatus curse on minors is often punished with the Dementor's kiss.”

No, it's definitely intended as cheekiness. Terry groans softly.

“So two hurts twice as much,” says Alecto, jabbing her wand at Michael. “And three should do it three times as much _—_ ”

She's wrong, mathematically speaking, and Michael wonders if he should mention it, but he's dug himself a deep enough hole as is. Better not to dig himself a grave.

It's barely an exaggeration, and he forces himself not to chuckle hysterically. Oh Merlin, he could dig himself a grave now, easily as anything. He'd tried to duel the Carrows last night and even though it obviously hadn't gone well for him, they are eager to avenge themselves.

Michael finds Anthony and Terry in the crowd, where they're huddled with the rest of the Ravenclaws and Professor Flitwick. He doesn't know what to do, having located them, other than wave (he'd probably get in trouble for it) or wink (horribly inappropriate reaction) or possibly just nod (he does, and Terry looks like he's about to cry.)

Don't worry, he wants to say. They can't legally kill him.

But that's not much of a comfort, so he doesn't say it. The Carrows are still talking; Michael has resigned himself to his fate. He'd never tried to be a hero, but it'd happened anyway, and he thinks for a moment that maybe this is what Luna had meant, all those months ago when she'd said he could be one.

He wonders if she's right about the Snorkacks, too, and this time he's unable to shake his grin.

* * *

“Why's he smiling,” whispers Terry. He has to bend his knees to whisper directly into Anthony's ear; Anthony moves away a little and wipes his ear.

“ _God,_ Terry,” he says, voice a little higher than normal.

“Why's he smiling,” repeats Terry. Michael isn't looking at them anymore.

Terry takes off his glasses after a minute, and the world gets reduced to a splotchy blur and Michael's cries and Anthony clutching his shoulder. He wishes he could put his hands over his ears and sit down and cry but he can barely move, his hands clutching his glasses to his chest.

It's Anthony who has the dubious honour of being the only member of their little group with any idea of what happens, and as it happens, he really doesn't focus on very much at all. Anthony has a good memory, the kind of memory that had helped him memorize all the Hogwarts rules, the kind of memory that had seen him through his History of Magic OWLs, the kind of memory that his mother said would help him _go places_ , the kind of memory that means he can't forget what it sounds like.

And so Anthony checks the time periodically because this is something to use when the Carrows get taken to trial, and Anthony clings to Terry and Michael cries, gets thrown around by Impedimenta. Once he pulls his arm up to protect his face and the sleeve is shredded within the minute.

It's been twelve minutes by the time Anthony has to leave and be sick in a trash can; when he comes back the students are standing worriedly at the edges of the room and Michael is unconscious. Some of the teachers are kneeling around him talking quietly; Padma is holding Terry's hand in both of her own.

Anthony puts an arm around Terry and neither of them say a word until Slughorn comes around, puts his hands on their shoulders, and tells them gently that they should follow the others out.

* * *

“We can't get caught again,” says Neville. He's pacing back and forth, probably exacerbating the knee injury still giving him a pronounced limp. Anthony nods, his head lowered and his arms folded.

“We weren't caught,” whispers Hannah. “He went back.”

“Whatever happens,” says Seamus, “That was nightmare stuff. We can't ask anyone to do that for us.”

“Yeah,” says Neville. He shudders. “How long?”

Anthony had not gotten the time in the end. Padma answers, and he's grateful that she'd had the same instinct. “Fourteen minutes."

Neville shakes his head. Normally the Carrows barely went over a minute; fourteen was almost unthinkable. It wasn't a long time, but it wasn't an easy curse to take. “Does anyone _—_ has anyone seen him?”

“Carrows didn't let anyone in,” says Anthony. “We tried.”

The school is on edge; nobody has heard how Michael is yet. There's a third year Ravenclaw who offered to wait outside the Hospital Wing and change the Galleons if there was any news. Terry, a few yards away, has the Galleon tied to his wrist with a ribbon, so he feels it right away. Anthony is turning his over in his hands, watching it move between his fingers.

“There's still, what, two months left of school?” says Neville. He spins on his heel to pace in the other direction, shaking his head. "It's April. They could have killed him if they'd been careless."

Terry's hands are still shaking badly. He wishes he had something to eat. He wishes he had something to smoke. He smooths down his hair instead. It's been a half hour since they'd left the Great Hall.

“He'll live,” says Padma softly.

“He'll live,” echoes Anthony.

* * *

  _I laughed, and spoke to one near me,_  
_“Will he prevail?”_  
_“Surely,” replied this other;_  
_“His grandfathers beat them many times.”_

* * *

They're let in late that night, right before curfew, and Madam Pomfrey says gently that she'll let them use the other beds in the wing for the night.

Anthony wants to take Michael's hand, touch his shoulder, anything to make Michael realise that they're here, but he's terrified to hurt him. Michael's eyes are shut; Anthony doesn't know if he's been knocked out or if he's asleep.

They sit by Michael's bedside and stare down at him.

“I've set wards,” says Madam Pomfrey. “To tell me if he wakes, or anything changes. I'll be in my room. Only a moment away...”

“Thank you,” says Terry.

They wait. Michael doesn't wake, which is probably for the best. Anthony counts the minutes and stares for too long at Michael's arm, a mess of half-healed cuts. Terry looks at the floor. Michael doesn't wake.

* * *

Amycus Carrow tells Neville threateningly that he's going to get what's coming to him soon enough. “This has gone too far,” he snarls, as though Michael was Neville's fault. Which it only kind of was. “About time we got you under control.”

Anthony, Hannah, and Neville sit together that afternoon and map the fastest routes to the Room from anywhere on Neville's schedule. It doesn't take a genius to know that at this point there is nothing the Carrows can do to control Neville other than kill him. Kill him or lock him away.

“If you have to run,” says Anthony. “If you _have_ to run. Then it's best to let whoever you're with do the fighting. Your job is to run like hell.”

“I don't want anyone hurt on my _—_ ” starts Neville.

“People have been getting hurt all year,” says Anthony. “You're the only face of the rebellion, out there, you're all we have left. Losing you is gonna hurt a lot more than anything they've done before.”

Anthony and Terry skive off their last class of the week to hang out in the Hospital Wing. Michael's still asleep, so they settle next to him uneasily and try to distract themselves. Terry stares at his book without reading it; Anthony tries to do Arithmancy work.

“You guys look like hell,” says Michael's voice, very faintly, and Anthony flinches, Terry jumps, and Michael winces.

“Mike!” Terry is torn between grabbing Michael's hand and standing up and giving him space.

“Hi,” says Michael, his voice almost gone. Terry takes Michael's hand, gently, and he and Anthony both lean over him.

“What happened to being a coward,” says Anthony, because he can't help it. Michael's such a liar.

Michael is surprised enough to laugh a little. “If I wasn't already, I am now,” he says, a ghost of humour coming into his voice. He shudders for dramatic effect.

“You,” says Terry, who suddenly can't remember how to talk. “You absolute bastard.”

Michael starts laughing weakly. “Believe me, Terry, I know. I know.”

“How do you feel?” Anthony asks.

“How would you feel?” counters Michael. “I literally don't even remember what happened.” He cannot claim to have been thinking clearly at all.

“They tore you up,” says Terry, which does absolutely nothing in the way of explaining it. He gestures vaguely at Michael, prone in his hospital cot. “Your _face_. And the rest of you. Are you okay?”

Michael laughs again and doesn't bother to answer that. “Did they get the kid?”

“Yeah,” says Anthony. “He's at an Order safe house and they got through to his parents.”

“Then I'm alright," says Michael, who's such a liar.

* * *

For two days after Michael's torture, the seventh year Gryffindors stick to Neville like glue and the rest of the DA keeps a wary eye out. It happens, perhaps unsurprisingly, outside the Dark Arts classroom.

They hadn't made the mistake they made with Augusta- they do not underestimate the Longbottoms this time. What they do underestimate is Gryffindor House, and as Neville turns tall and flees, pursued by the Carrows, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender duel the other five Death Eaters.

Neville messages the Galleons to let the DA know he's okay and Michael blows out a long breath in relief, alone in the Hospital Wing.

The whole school is ordered to the Great Hall. The tables are absent, like they are for public punishments, but it's an announcement, not a demonstration.

“The dangerous criminal Neville Longbottom has evaded capture,” says Snape, standing on the platform where the staff table would usually be. “He is most likely still on school grounds. If any student has knowledge of his whereabouts, I advise them to speak with one of the professors Carrow. Failure to do so may result in harsh retribution.”

There's a moment of silence, then he adds, “Mr. Finnigan, Miss Patil, and Miss Brown, please report to the dungeons. Mr. Filch will search all of you presently. Nobody is to leave this Hall.”

“What, do they think he's hiding in our robes?” whispers Terry.

“They're going to tear the school apart looking for him,” Anthony whispers back.

“Good,” whispers Terry.

“No,” says Anthony. “No, it's not.” Terry blows out his breath but doesn't argue.

Seamus Finnigan, Lavender Brown, and Parvati Patil are battered and bloody when they are released from the dungeons the next morning. Anthony and Hannah meet Neville in the Room, but the Carrows demand later to know where they were, and when they have no alibis, they're both Cruciated badly. Neville tells them it's too dangerous now. After everything Anthony has said, and everything Hannah has done, the Carrows are watching them as closely as they watch the older Gryffindors, and they can't risk sneaking to the Room for meetings.

* * *

_Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers -_  
_At least, for the little man_  
_Who stood against the mountains._

* * *

“I don't think the Carrows have any idea how to run an oppressive regime,” says Michael. “The school's getting out of control and all they can think to do is torture us.”

“Since when have they been all that brilliant?” says Terry. “Obviously You-Know-Who ought to be putting Ravenclaws in charge.”

“They're supposed to be _cunning_ ,” says Michael. “They're an embarrassment.”

Terry rolls his eyes and Anthony shifts uncomfortably. "Speaking of the Carrows," he says, which is a phrase that nobody likes to hear. "Crabbe said something to Seamus and we think they're moving in soon. They're going to start arresting students."

"Oh," says Michael. 

"So, me and Seamus are going to camp in the Room," Anthony says.

"Oh," says Michael again. "Good luck."

"I'll see you around, then," says Anthony, and Michael almost laughs.

* * *

[Poem: _Once I saw mountains angry,_ by Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading!]


	12. The Assassin

When he and Seamus Finnigan meet before dinner, Seamus has bruises all over his face and is holding one arm to his chest. He grimaces at Anthony and shrugs

“How did you manage to get beaten up again?” says Anthony, unsure he wants an answer. 

“Asked Crabbe and Goyle if they'd miss me when I'm in Azkaban,” says Seamus, and grins. Anthony suspects that Seamus said a little more than that, but he lets it go. 

“Then we're off,” he says, and they head off.

They're already on the seventh floor; they just need to walk around the castle to the Room entrance and duck inside.

There are three neat hammocks in the Room when they arrive, and Neville is enjoying a plate of ham and peas.

“Oh, you got food?” Seamus asks, dropping his backpack on one of the hammocks and grimacing.

“Passageway,” says Neville, mouth full. “Goes to the Hog's Head.”

“Oh,” says Anthony, making a face. Euck.

* * *

They spend a full day in the Room, two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw. Anthony goes down the passageway to ask for food the next day, because Neville and Seamus are both beat up and shouldn't be walking down tunnels that much, and because he wants to ask Aberforth if it'd be too much trouble to make something with no pork at least. When he comes back up the passageway with the food, Lavender Brown is berating Neville and Seamus about the state of the Room.

Now she mentions it, Anthony can see why she's upset. There's a lot of dirty laundry around, and someone's trainers on a nice plushy chair, and the bathroom is small and insufficient. Neville and Seamus aren't particularly neat people. 

Parvati, at the moment, is in the process of levitating the dirty laundry into a hamper. Hannah Abbott is standing behind Lavender, hands on hips sternly, but far too amused to appear stern. Padma is sitting in an armchair watching the lecture with interest; she grins at Anthony when he comes in.

“Hey, Anthony!” says Neville, desperate for a distraction. Lavender laughs.

“Good, you can help clean!”

The Room has grown a little bit bigger, the Hufflepuff banner hanging between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw on the wall, the bathroom expanded.

“That's more like it,” says Lavender, of the laundry. Anthony smiles around the room and agrees.

* * *

 Michael is kicked out of the Hospital Wing unceremoniously after a week, ostensibly to return to classes, but he fetches his things and stands outside the Ravenclaw Tower door facing Terry.

“You take care,” says Terry. “Don't go getting heroic ideas.”

“You too,” says Michael, and grins slightly. “Keep on keeping on, Terry.”

“And same to you, Michael.”

And then Michael turns and starts towards the Room. Terry turns his back and knocks on the door.

“Why is a Dementor like a Boggart?” says the voice, lilting and whimsical as per usual.

“Wouldn't wanna shove either of them up my arse,” says Terry.

“You're not even trying anymore, are you?” says the knocker, but the door swings open.

* * *

It's April twenty-second. The castle is thoroughly searched twice that day, the Carrows apoplectic at the number of dangerous students just disappearing into thin air. There are no seventh year Gryffindors left, and on the same day Michael disappears, so do Wayne Hopkins, Oliver Rivers, Ernie Macmillan, and Sally-Anne Perks.

Two days later, Zacharias Smith is the only seventh year Hufflepuff left. Terry, Stephen, and Lisa are the only seventh year Ravenclaws. There are no Gryffindors. The sixth years don't fare much better, and even some of the younger students have to run.

Though the Carrows don't outright admit it, some of the students kidnapped had been taken from right under their noses. Morag MacDougal had been rescued from the dungeons, as had Demelza Robbins and Andrew Kirke.

The school is under lockdown by now. Colin Creevey and his brother disappear into the Room. Curfew is moved to nine and Death Eaters are put on guard at every Common Room door. The Montgomery sisters disappear, with Romilda Vane and Vicky Frobisher. The remaining seventh years are Cruciated publicly just to set an example. Someone whispers a Trip Jinx when Alecto passes. It could have been anyone; every student in the hallway is lined up and Cruciated, one after another.

“So this is what they meant when they said it would get worse,” says Stephen one night. Their dorm is almost empty. Just the two of them.

“You never listened?” says Terry.

“Nah. I always thought Michael was sort of a worrywart, truth be told. Paranoid.”

“Well, he is,” says Terry, just to be fair.

“Well, he was right, paranoid or not. He deserves a medal.” Stephen's voice is deep and amiable in the dark; by day, Terry has always thought of it as somewhat insincere and overcompensating.

“Don't we all?” says Terry. He's never really liked Stephen, and he suspects the feeling is mutual, but this year has been really weird already, so he might as well get along with Stephen Cornfoot on top of it.

“Yeah,” says Stephen.

* * *

It's April thirtieth, and Michael and Anthony are playing chess.

“How do you reckon everyone else is?” says Anthony.

“Bad,” says Michael, which Anthony had expected. “Carrows will be apoplectic, by now, people've been disappearing literally every day. Bet You-Know-Who's really pleased with them.”

“Would you be glad if he wasn't?” says Anthony. Michael shrugs.

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but I reckon it'd be good for them to get a taste of their own medicine,” he says. His face is still healing- Sectumsempra doesn't heal fast or easy- but he twists his mouth in displeasure as best he can.

“Probably,” says Anthony, watching the board instead of Michael. “The way I see it, it's not right to wish anyone that _—_ ”

“It's not particularly right to torture teenagers, either,” points out Michael. “They acted first. It's only fair.”

“Nothing's particularly fair,” points out Anthony.

Michael moves a pawn. “You know,” he says, contemplating the chessboard, “You've gotten a lot better at chess.”

* * *

It's almost two weeks since the first few DA members started running to the Room, and the school outside seems to be lying in wait. Even Lisa retreats to the Room, and now Terry is officially the oldest DA member left in Hogwarts. 

“You should come in,” Anthony says, when Terry is in the Room visiting. There's nothing to do in the school. “Permanently, I mean.”

“Nah,” says Terry. “Still stuff to do out there.” He nods along to the radio, playing the Northern Trolls.

“At the very least, then, you shouldn't be coming here,” says Anthony. “Sooner or later the Carrows are gonna ask you where you keep going, and you don't have any alibi.”

“They don't care about me,” says Terry. “I'm just a criminal's bastard kid. And halfblood.”

“Being a criminal's bastard halfblood kid makes you _less_ safe,” points out Michael.

“You're the oldest DA member out there,” says Anthony. “They're going to catch on.”

“Doubt it, they're really not all that bright,” says Terry.

“Maybe not the Carrows, but Snape is,” says Michael.

“We don't have to worry about Snape,” says Terry. “Haven't seen his face in a few days, it's the Carrows what're running things.”

The radio squelches off into static; Demelza Robins kicks it and the static resolves.

“ _—_ special broadcast here for some very special news! Harry Potter _—_ ”

“Blimey,” says someone, and there's immediate and fervent shushing.

“-along with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, the famous trio of troublemakers, has just broken into Britain's most famous wizarding bank! That's right, folks, Harry Potter and two accomplices broke into Gringotts! After seizing an unknown item or items from a top-security vault, they then took their leave on a dragon. Hopped on and soared away, leaving the confused bankers behind!”

“Holy Merlin,” says Michael.

“Lee,” hisses a voice.

“Code names, code names, you moron _—_ ” hisses River back.

“Lee!” says the same voice, louder. There's a moment of silence, then three yells of “Stupefy!” and a thudding sound and someone shouts “That's all!”

There's a loud click, then the static comes back, and Michael claps his hands over his ears again.

The balcony is used, at this point, mostly for storage- it's where they relocated their contraband, so the Dungbombs didn't stink up the Room, and it's where the senior DA has elected to meet following the announcement.

“So,” says Neville, rubbing his hands together almost manically. “Harry broke into Gringotts, and I have a very good idea of what he got.”

“The Sword!” says Hannah. “Remember, Jimmy said they'd sent it to Gringotts, how d'you think he figured out it was there _—_ ”

“Someone's gonna have to tell the kids out there,” says Anthony. “Just so they know, y'know. Harry's alive, he's fine, fight's still going _—_ ”

“I can do it,” says Terry.

Neville gapes at him. “Terry, mate, you're _—_ ”

“The only one of us who can go to dinner,” says Terry. "You're all fugitives." Anthony blows out a breath.

“Couldn't we put it on the Galleons?” says Ernie, brow furrowed. “Seems a bit risky, sending someone out to actually say it, with the Carrows _—_ ”

“Wouldn't fit, we only get thirty characters in on the Galleons,” says Neville. 

“Terry, are you sure about this?” says Padma. “The Carrows are going to _—_ ”

“Then I'd better be prepared to run,” says Terry, but he grins anyway. “Don't worry about me. I'm fast.”

“Not if you're trying to fend off the Carrows and holding your glasses,” Neville points out. “Absolutely not, Terry, you can't _—_ ”

“Oh, for Christ's sake,” says Terry, his tone easygoing but his hurt expression betraying him. “I can stick the glasses on, simple enough Charm, and Shield Hats do a world of good _—_ ”

“Terry,” says Michael. “Are you sure? You get caught and captured, they won't give you the time in the dungeons for us to come rescue you. We barely got Andrew out before the Carrows came to get him _—_ ”

“I'm sure,” says Terry. “Least I can do, really. And I've got a hell of a Protego.”

* * *

Neville, Hannah, and Seamus hold whispered arguments in the corner. Michael lies still in a hammock and pretends to be asleep. Anthony practices the wand motions for curses and jinxes and hexes.

If he ever has to fight, he knows, it's not economic to use jinxes or hexes. He doubts he's really good enough to whip off any Killing Curses, and he's really not sure he wants to, but too many jinxes and hexes and spells can be easily remedied, too many jinxes and hexes and spells are useless in battle.

It's not about disabling the enemy, not when the enemy is outnumbering you and you're desperate. It's about giving as good as you get, it's about making it as difficult for them to continue. It's about destroying them.

And if that means they need to kill, then they need to kill.

He doubts he could do the Killing Curse. It's a powerful spell, saps a lot of energy, but Anthony isn't a fool. Anything can be used to kill, if used right. Levitation, Summoning, even Jelly-Leg Jinxes.

A long time ago Anthony had thought himself a good person, or at the very least, someone who tried damn hard to be. But here he sits, practicing the harmless jinxes and hexes and spells he's been learning for seven years and fully prepared to kill people with them. It's shameful, really, the worst way to use magic. Magic is supposed to be beautiful, Anthony has always believed that.

* * *

 _A man feared that he might find an assassin;_  
_Another that he might find a victim.  
__One was more wise than the other_.

* * *

“I think Harry's coming here,” says Neville. Seamus, arms folded, lips twisted cynically, says nothing. Hannah, face mirroring Seamus's, presses her lips together.

“Why?” says Anthony, who can't think of a single reason that Harry Potter would want to come to Hogwarts. Not when he's a wanted man, not when half the school has openly hated him at some point, not when it's run by Death Eaters.

“It makes sense,” says Neville. “He knows we're here, he probably knows we'd be resisting any way we can. Hogwarts was like Harry's second home, really. He'll want to help us.”

“Harry walking into a hive of Death Eaters, when he's got a thousand Galleons on his head, isn't gonna help anyone,” says Anthony.

“Told you he'd agree with me,” says Seamus to Neville.

“Seamus,” says Hannah.

“There's more,” says Neville. “Word from Jimmy Peakes is that Snape's scared. Says that he's been ordering searches, nobody leaves the dorms, and that Carrow told the Slytherins that he has reason to believe there's a criminal coming to Hogwarts.”

“The Slytherins _—_ ”

“Jimmy's sister is Slytherin,” says Hannah.

“Whatever his sister says,” says Seamus, face still twisted dubiously, “I don't trust it. Harry's not dumb enough to come here, Death Eaters and bloody Dementors swarming about. This isn't anybody's home anymore.”

“It used to be Harry's,” says Neville. “He's got the Sword _—_ ”

“Yeah, so he won't need to be coming here,” says Seamus. “Wasn't that what he was after in the first place?”

“If he's coming, we better be ready,” interjects Anthony, because Neville opens his mouth and looks ready to snap back. “But honest, Neville, I doubt it. Even Harry wouldn't do that.”

“Guess we'll see, won't we?” says Neville, shaking his head. Anthony inclines his head towards the Gryffindors; Hannah puts a hand on Neville's shoulder.

“Guess we will,” she says solemnly.

* * *

“Oi!” shouts Terry. He's right in the middle of the Great Hall, poised to flee, and he's grinning despite himself, because the students are all looking at him, terrified and wary, and he has good news. “Hey everyone, guess what? Harry Potter's alive! Just robbed Gringotts, broke in and escaped on a dragon! Still out there, still fighting for us _—_ ”

It's then that he's knocked hard onto the floor, and Alecto stomps over to him. He can't see anything- not because he lost the glasses, they're Charmed stuck to his face- because he hit his head.

Alecto kicks him in the ribs and Cruciates him _—_ G _od—_ then jinxes him again. He slides a few meters away into the Hufflepuff bench. Someone screams. He relates very strongly.

But that gives him five seconds to grab his wand out of his robes and cast a _Protego_ and scoot on his ass backwards while she's approaching; there's another Cruciatus Curse that gets deflected into the stone- the stone cracks and Terry yelps and he's scrambling and then he's on his feet and running. There's a door waiting for him, in an empty classroom just outside the Great Hall, and Padma is dangling out of it. Terry staggers and practically falls into the passage; the door seals behind him and he kneels panting on the floor.

“You okay?” asks Padma, leaning over Terry with a concerned look.

“I think that went well,” gasps Terry.

* * *

[Poem: _A Man feared that he might find an assassin,_ by Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading!]


	13. The Vast Blue

Michael is sitting quietly a little away from most of them, book in hands, facing away, and as soon as Terry's put back in working condition he goes over and sits next to him.

“Oi, Mike, what's _—_ ” He trails off uncomfortably- Michael is crying quietly, clear even though he turns away quickly, and Michael hates crying. “I'll just _—_ ”

“You're fine,” says Michael, dropping the book to wipe at his eyes with his thumbs. “It's nothing you haven't seen.” He glances sideways at Terry. “I mean, the entire school saw me crying.”

“You didn't sell us out,” says Terry, a small comfort.

Michael laughs.

“If they'd had a chance to question me again,” he says, with total conviction, “I would have.”

“Good thing they didn't have the chance, then,” says Terry.

“Yeah."

There's a pause. Then: “Everyone's awkward around me, you know. They don't look at my face. Not even Anthony.”

Terry wants to say something comforting but they both know he's almost blind and not the best judge of how minor Michael’s scars are.

“I guess I can't judge,” says Michael. “It's not like I'm the picture of mental stability.”

“Yeah,” says Terry. “I mean. Don't be too harsh. Nobody here is doing well. I started smoking again.”

He’d actually started smoking again months ago but Michael doesn’t need the details.

"I know," says Michael, after a moment. "Me and Anthony have known since February."

There's another pause as Terry nods slowly. 

"You okay?" he says finally, uncomfortably.

Somehow that's what crushes him; Michael tucks his head into his arms and sobs, and Terry puts his chin on his hands and they sit there, Michael shaking, Terry quiet.

* * *

“So you think Neville's wrong too,” says Anthony.

Seamus shrugs, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Mate, if I'm wrong and Harry does show, I'm willing to do whatever he wants, swear to God. But really, I doubt he's coming. I've had doubts over the years, but he's not stupid.”

“Yeah,” says Anthony. They watch Neville pace in silence.

“He keeps doing that,” says Seamus. “Gonna make that knee worse.”

Anthony nods.

Then Ariana comes into the portrait, and Neville frowns. “Ariana?”

It's half past ten; they already have dinner. Ariana'd only be here at this hour if Aberforth had news or deliveries for someone.

“I'll go,” says Neville.

“Watch the knee,” says Seamus. Neville nods in acknowledgement and disappears into the tunnel.

They wait. 

* * *

 Neville is beaming when the portrait door reopens.

That can only mean one thing, thinks Anthony, and sure enough, Neville says gleefully, “Look who it is! Didn't I tell you?”

The DA is scattered around the Room, but there's a surge of motion to the portrait, and Neville climbs out of the passageway and it's _him._ Harry Potter, back in Hogwarts, and Anthony's first thought is that he owes Neville an apology, and his next thought is it's _Harry Potter_ , still alive, looking rather beat to hell but so gloriously alive, and the DA is yelling and crowding and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are right behind Potter. 

Neville calms them down; Harry looks around the Room and asks where they are, and while Neville starts retelling the story of his mad dash to the Room, Michael fights his way through the crowd, Terry on his heels, to where Anthony is standing with his arms folded. Seamus chimes into the conversation. Anthony gives Terry and Michael a relieved look.

Harry is still looking around incredulously, even as he confirms that he did, indeed, escape Gringotts on a dragon, and then he sways, grabs at his forehead.

“I expect you're tired,” Neville is saying, and Michael and Terry glance at each other warily.

“No,” says Harry, voice tight with pain. “We need to get going.”

“What are we gonna do, then, Harry?” says Neville. “What's the plan?”

“Plan,” repeats Harry, and there's a suspicious look on his face. He glances at Ron. “Well _—_ there's something we _—_ Ron, Hermione, and I _—_ need to do, and then we'll get out of here.”

Terry looks at Michael. Anthony closes his eyes.

“What do you mean, _get out of here_ ,” says Neville, who's not smiling so broadly anymore. 

“We haven't come to stay,” says Harry, and Michael and Terry glance at each other again. Harry is still talking. Neville says something back. Michael doesn't care.

“We're his army, Dumbledore's Army,” says Neville, still smiling in faint disbelief. “We were all in it together, we've been keeping it together while you three have been off on your own _—_ ”

“Hasn't exactly been a picnic, mate,” bites Ron Weasley, and Neville raises his hands placatingly.

But Harry Potter is here and he's going to leave them right after he's finished with whatever he needs to do, and Terry puts his hands over his face, almost knocking his glasses askew.

“We got your message,” says a voice, and Anthony jumps, looks up with shock, and it's _Luna,_ and he stands up, and then there's Dean Thomas behind her _—_ Seamus lets out a cry of unbridled joy and practically tackles him _—_ and the DA swarms around Luna, because it's been _months_ and she's alive, but the argument between Harry and Neville is still mounting, even Luna adding to it, and Michael feels something harsh and frustrated building up in him _—_ months and months of this school and they're getting their first chance of getting out of here taken away.

“I'm sorry, that's not what we came back for,” says Harry, voice rising in frustration. “There's something we've gotta do, and then _—_ ”

“You're just going to leave us in this mess,” says Michael, not even bothering to hide that he's upset, and the argument only escalates until the door opens again and it's the Weasley twins and Ginny and Cho Chang. Both of Michael's ex-girlfriends, but he doesn't even register it fully. Neville and Harry are still going at it, and then Ron interjects.

“Why can't they help?” he says.

“What?” says Harry, finally snapping at someone, clearly not expecting Ron of all of them to side with Neville.

There's a short, whispered conversation between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with Neville clearly eavesdropping, and then Harry straightens up. “Okay,” he says. “There's something we need to find. Something- something that will help us overthrow You-Know-Who. It's here- at Hogwarts- but we don't know where. It might have belonged to Ravenclaw. Has anyone heard of an object like that?” He glances hopefully at where the oldest Ravenclaws are clustered. Terry glances at Michael. “Has anyone come across something with her eagle on it, for instance?”

“Well, there's her lost diadem,” Luna pipes up, from where she's sitting with Ginny. “I told you about it, Harry, remember? The lost diadem of Ravenclaw? Daddy's trying to duplicate it _—_ ”

“Yeah,” Michael interrupts her irritably. “But the lost diadem is _lost_ , Luna. That's sort of the point _—_ ”

“When was it lost?” asks Harry, as Terry and Anthony give Michael identical warning looks.

“Centuries ago, they say,” says Cho, and Terry shakes his head, because Harry Potter doesn't even know what he's looking for, because the best option Harry ends up choosing is going with Luna to the Common Room to look at the Ravenclaw statue.

Michael, truth be told, is jealous. He misses Ravenclaw, the smells of books and ink and faintly of cannabis, and the rustling of papers even long after curfew, and the arching windows and curtains. He rather wishes it were him going to the Tower again.

The cupboard clicks closed.

“What's wrong with Harry?” Lavender says to Hermione; Ron stiffens slightly and turns to her.

“We're all under a bit of stress at the moment,” says Ron, voice tinging with annoyance. Hermione puts one hand on his arm.

“There are _—_ things _—_ we need to do _—_ they'll help us all out in the end,” she says, darting a look at Ron. “It's not _—_ ”

“You're still going to abandon us here, aren't you?” says Seamus, and Lavender clears her throat.

“Seamus,” she says warningly, but he ignores her.

“ _Guys_ ,” says Neville.

“Whatever you think you know about what we've been through,” says Ron, his ears turning red with frustration, “I _swear_ you have no idea _—_ ”

“All of you shut it _,_ ” snaps Ginny. “Nobody has any right to say that they had it the worst, we don't know anything.”

Seamus looks about to say something else when the portrait swings open again, and a group of redheads come in, with their former Professor Lupin, a tall man with an earring, and Fleur Delacour, and they're all spared further conflict by the resulting hubbub.

There's a commotion, as the Weasley family reunites with Ron and Hermione and the Order of the Phoenix confers with Neville. 

There's another commotion, as the door swings back open and more of the old DA pours in. Oliver Wood shouts over the din to ask if they'd really escaped on a dragon.

“Were you after the Sword?” asks Ginny, glancing at Ron.

“No, we actually lost the Sword there,” says Ron. 

“Where'd Griphook end up?” asks Dean Thomas, and Ron makes a markedly ugly face.

“Scheming little-”

“We lost him at Gringotts too,” interrupts Hermione. “How'd you know about the Sword, Ginny?”

“We tried to get it for you!” says Ginny. “Me, Luna, Neville _—_ ”

“Doesn't matter, does it? We lost it,” says Ron testily. Hermione folds her arms.

“Ron, there are still ways to do _it_ that don't involve swords _—_ ”

“Hermione!” says Ron, suddenly whirling on her. “Are you thinking what I'm _—_ ”

“No,” says Hermione, looking almost frightened. “What _—_ ”

“Come on!” Ron grabs her hand and turns toward the cupboard that hides the Room's exit. “We're going to the bathroom,” he calls out over his shoulder, leaving a bemused muddle of protests and confused questions behind.

“What was _that_ about?” says Fred. Michael glances at Terry.

Ginny shakes her head, bemused, as the cupboard out of the Room reopens.

“Harry!” says ex-Professor Lupin. “What's happening?”

Harry steps out of the cupboard, Luna right behind him. “Voldemort's on his way,” he says, and a surge of exhilarated terror moves up Anthony's back.

* * *

The voice is chilling, terrifying, and Terry has to cover his ears and close his eyes. His glasses are Charmed stuck to his face because they plan to fight, he's wearing Muggle clothes instead of robes because robes are dreadfully impractical, he's ready to fight but fuck him he's terrified and he's shaking like a goddamn leaf.

“You have until midnight.”

Hand over Harry Potter. As if.

You-Know-Who, really, is terrifying to thinking about, and he's _coming for them,_ but Harry's the best hope they have at beating him and that's a terrifying thought too, that they're fighting for him.

Because Harry Potter, Chosen One or not, is still a seventeen year old, younger than him, younger than any of his friends. They might need Harry Potter, but Terry thinks, looking at Harry now, it's foolishness to rely on him completely.

Because Harry is worn out, tired and covered in nicks and bruises and burns, older and wiser than anyone should be at seventeen, but then Terry can't help but think that they all are, now, that Harry is no different from any of the rest of them, that Harry, truth be told, doesn't look anywhere near as hardened as some of the DA.

Terry wonders if they have any chance at all, and for the first time, he doesn't think so.

* * *

  _If I should cast off this tattered coat,_  
_And go free into the mighty sky;_

* * *

They're going to be okay, Anthony says. Everything will be alright _—_ stick together _—_ watch out for the younger ones _—_ all lies and he knows it, but then the last of the underage students are in the passageway, and he gives Padma a weary look.

He's still a Prefect, on top of it all, but the last student disappears _—_ some of them had needed to be sedated, they'd tried so hard to stay _—_ and he caves in, leans against the wall with a heavy sigh and closes his eyes.

“They'll be safe,” Padma says. “It'll be okay.”

It's a lie, and they both know it, but Anthony nods and offers half a smile and his hand. She takes it and pulls him into a hug; “You're a good friend,” she says. “So you know, if we don't get the chance later, just, know that.”

“You too,” says Anthony into her hair.

* * *

 _If I should find nothing there_  
_But a vast blue,  
_ _Echoless, ignorant -_

* * *

They are in the Great Hall, and they all know they could die soon.

“This is it, I guess,” says Michael, his hands shaking in his pockets.

“Guess so,” says Anthony. He takes a deep breath. “If we—”

“Don't,” says Terry.

“Right,” says Anthony, and disobeys. “If we don't _—_ ”

“Anthony,” says Terry. "We won't."

Anthony smiles. “You guys have been some of the best things to happen to me, you know that, right?”

“Damn right,” says Terry, and a sudden surge of emotion threatens to betray him. “So you better not even think about dying on me, after everything—both of you _—_ ”

Michael grins slightly. “Wouldn't dream of it.”

“So,” says Anthony, and he holds out a hand. “Here's to us, and here's to our future, whatever it is, and _—_ ”

“Oh come _off_ it,” snaps Terry, and he grabs both of them into a hug. Anthony stiffens. Michael squawks in protest. They are all profoundly uncomfortable for a moment, then Terry releases them, his job done.

“Here's to us, eh?” says Michael, with only a hint of irony, and they all nod and go their separate ways to the Battle.

* * *

_What then?_

* * *

[Poem: _If I should cast off this tattered coat,_ by Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading!]


	14. The Huddled Procession

Anthony has excellent aim; he's put on Ravenclaw Tower with Lisa Turpin. Terry duels well; he's put on the grounds with Kingsley Shacklebolt's group. Michael is very ordinary; he's inside the castle with a group of older sixth years. It's almost midnight.

* * *

Terry Boot, glasses Charmed stuck to his face, Seamus Finnigan, Wayne Hopkins, Ernie Macmillan, Parvati Patil, Bill Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt- they are going to be the first to fight, the first line of defense, and Terry can't decide what to do with his feet and his arms and his wand.

Wand tucked away, arms folded, shuffled feet, shifting to his right, wand back out, arms unfolded again, one hand on his hip, one hand scratching at his ear.

“You wanna go inside?” says Seamus after a while. It's not to discredit Terry's fighting ability. It's because they all know that they will be the first to fall, most likely, and they are terrified, even Seamus Finnigan, though he does a good job hiding it.

Terry clears his throat and tells himself to stop fidgeting. “Nah,” he says, then clears his throat again. Better him out here than someone else. He's disposable. “I'll stay.”

Seamus nods, swallowing nervously.

* * *

 

“You nervous?” asks Michael.

“Oh, yeah,” says Demelza Robins, forcing a laugh.

“Me too,” says Michael. They don't say anything else. Michael watches the clock on the wall. Six minutes. He wonders if it's foolish to count down. Probably is, but Michael's done foolish things before.

* * *

“There,” whispers Lisa, pointing. Anthony follows her finger out to a crowd, faintly visible outside the wards. Hogwarts is being defended by the few students who are of age _—_ just over thirty of them _—_ the graduated students, Order members, and teachers. Seventy, if they're lucky. The crowd outside looks to be twice that number.

“Oh,” he whispers. “We are in such deep shit.”

* * *

Michael wonders for a moment if it's foolish to hope that his friends and him, at least, will make it through this. It probably is, and selfish too. But Michael's done foolish, selfish things before.

And the castle shakes and he looks at the clock and it's started and Michael takes a long, shaky breath and blows it out.

* * *

Terry has never moved faster in his life- too soon, the Death Eaters make it through the first defenses- the walls, the statues, the wards. Too soon they're there on the grounds. Too soon, Kingsley yells to retreat. Someone's screaming. Terry's arm is bleeding and he doesn't know what happened. They get inside the doors and barely manage to shut them _—_

There's a dull  _thud_ , loud enough that Terry feels it in his chest.

“Fuck,” he says, and he and the rest of the students and Order in the Entrance Hall back slowly away from the doors, wands out. Wayne isn't anywhere to be seen; Terry hopes he's okay but knows better.

* * *

Michael is crouched behind a balcony. The sound is awful, even through earmuffs, and he clamps his hands hard over his ears and screws his eyes tight _—_ Neville has to nudge him back up to Stun the remaining mandrakes.

The Death Eaters below are all dead or dying, some bodies still writhing and clutching their heads. The sound disappears, but the memory of its shrill harshness still reverberates in Michael's head. Screaming. Screaming.

* * *

The fighting makes it into the corridors. Anthony can only aim at the duels in the courtyard, and he and Lisa lost valuable time holding their ears through the distant Mandrakes' cries, and the fighting's made it to the corridors. He can hear it below them. It's only a matter of time before someone gets up to the Ravenclaw Tower and finds them.

And then the tower shakes horribly. He's knocked onto his back.

Giant, thinks Anthony, _the giant—_ and Lisa screams at him to get up, and he scrambles up. Grabs the hand she offers him. The tower shakes again, and he grabs at the balcony, she grabs at a torch bracket and they hold on.

“The Tower,” gasps Anthony, because it's cracking ominously, and Lisa looks at him with the same sick comprehension he must feel, and then the giant hits the Tower again and Lisa squeezes her eyes shut.

* * *

 _There were many who went in huddled procession,_  
_They knew not whither;_

* * *

Terry, in some sick twist of fate, is dueling Alecto Carrow. He doesn't know her well at all _—_ he'd never been much trouble. He thinks for a moment that a lot of his classmates would have wanted to be in his place dueling her. He Stuns her, but kicks her when she's down, because even that is less than she really deserves.

Then something gray and almost inhuman tackles Terry to the ground _—_ he cries out, drops his wand, flails thoughtlessly _—_ there's a sound like ripping and then he feels something horrible and painful at his collarbone and neck.

There's a sick snap. He's been Cruciated before. It wasn't anything anything anything like this _—_ the man chuckles, something both terribly human and terribly _not_ and the man presses hard on Terry's chest and then gets up and runs.

Terry takes a breath; it feels wet. He takes another.

* * *

Michael and Hannah are still fighting, but the fight in the Great Hall has moved, largely, to the corridors, and they're only trying to keep off three Death Eaters now. Hannah Stuns one, he blasts the other one into a wall and tries to ignore the sickening crunch of broken bone, the last one turns tail and runs.

Michael and Hannah look at each other, not daring to lower their wands. Michael swears.

“Sums it up,” she says, and smiles fleetingly.

They split ways- someone nearby is screaming, someone else is shrieking with laughter. Michael bursts into a corridor, where a woman in black robes with unruly black hair is standing over Ritchie Coote, who's writhing weakly.

Ritchie Coote is about sixteen and thin as a reed and that's Bellatrix Lestrange, and Michael's already whipped off three or four Stunning spells before he registers that he has.

She barely spares him a glance; the spell knocks him hard into the wall a few metres away, and his feet are on fire _._

He gasps out a scream and then Ritchie screams again, hoarser than before. The flames eat up Michael's legs.

* * *

“ _Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately,”_ says the voice, clear and high and chilling. The Death Eater Anthony had been dueling backs away, then turns on the spot and runs. Anthony wonders if he could hex him from here. He doesn't. He can't move his hand. Shock maybe.

“ _You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity, treat your injured.”_

Andrew Kirke collapses, his hair falling out; Anthony turns around and vomits onto the staircase he's been holding onto. He can't focus on the rest of the announcement; there's another one shortly after, McGonagall with a standard Sonorus charm telling them to retroop in the Great Hall.

He finds Terry the next floor down- finds him lying on the ground with his chest ripped open, his wand discarded inches away from his hand. He fears the worst at first, but Terry's still breathing.

"Oh Terry," he says.

* * *

 _But, at any rate, success or calamity_  
_Would attend all in equality._

* * *

“ _—_ hear me, Terry?” says a voice, quietly.

“Mum?” he whispers.

“Sorry,” says the voice. “No, I'm Hannah _—_ you're hurt _—_ I'm gonna help you, alright?” Terry closes his eyes and nods.

* * *

Michael wakes up to excruciating pain and a face about an inch from his.

“Corner,” says Ritchie Coote, relieved.

“We're dead?” says Michael, his voice more like a croak than a voice. Ritchie shakes his head.

“Not yet.”

Michael almost laughs.

* * *

“Anyone who can fight will have to,” says Professor McGonagall to the small force of students and teachers and Order. “Underage students are to be sent home _—_ let's not spill more young blood _—_ ”

“I wanna fight,” says Natalie McDonald, her voice high and small. “I wanna _—_ ”

“I'm sorry, Miss McDonald, I won't allow it,” says Professor McGonagall.

Anthony's gaze wanders over and he spots Michael coming into the Hall, supported between Ernie Macmillan and a Gryffindor. He is limp, unmoving. Anthony forces himself to focus on McGonagall.

“Our priority is to collect the injured for treatment. I hope this will be enough. There are others _—_ ” she gestures to the makeshift hospital “ _—_ who will be healed and able to assist. We have… thirty-nine minutes.”

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are terse and worried, whispering solemnly near Ron's family. Neville is sitting tired and weary as Tracey Davis helps the cuts and limp and sprained wrist. The rumours say he and Ernie had been backed into a wall fighting off about seven Death Eaters. They're both alive. Miraculously.

Anthony folds his arms and stares at the floor. Across the room, Ernie and the Gryffindor are lying Michael down with the other wounded; Anthony blows out a soft breath.

* * *

“Time's up,” mumbles Parvati. She's sitting down, legs stretched in front of her. Probably still sore. Padma is next to her, trembling. Lisa is dead, nobody has seen Morag, and Mandy is injured.

“They might be waiting,” says Anthony quietly. “In case they think Harry's still going.”

“Harry went to them,” replies Parvati. “I know him. Well enough.”

Anthony nods, thinks about Harry Potter walking to his death.

“How many?” asks Parvati. Anthony glances over at the back of the room. Terry is carefully levitating someone from the ranks of the injured over to the ranks of the dead. Anthony closes his eyes. They had fixed the Stinging Hex. They don't know what can be done for the eye. He can't see out of it yet.

“Forty or so,” he says. “And counting.”

“We started with seventy,” breathes Padma in disbelief. “Before Colin came back with the sixth and fifth years _—_ ”

“I know,” says Anthony. “I know.”

“ _The battle is won_.”

Anthony almost falls over when he stands up, but Padma puts her hand on his arm and he stays on his feet.

_“You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished.”_

There's a collective intake of breath.

* * *

 _There was one who sought a new road._  
_He went into direful thickets,_

* * *

It's unreal, when You-Know-Who comes. Anthony's never even seen a photograph _—_ he's inhuman and skeletal, pale and frightening. It's unreal seeing Harry Potter's body; it's unreal to think he's dead.

There's screaming _—_ Ginny, Ron, Hermione _—_ there's restored quiet. There's a shocked peace; there's Neville, launching himself at You-Know-Who and getting stopped in his tracks.

Anthony closes his eyes, because he doesn't want to watch Neville die, and so Anthony misses the flash of silver and the twisting of the great snake's body as it dies. He reopens his eyes to a cacophony _—_ there are _so many people_ streaming through the gates, Professor Slughorn at the head _—_ the battle has recommenced with vigour.

Anthony spins and tries to find a Death Eater to fight, but they're all fleeing the reinforcements into the Entrance Hall. He spins and he's face to face with You-Know-Who _—_ he backs away fast, but You-Know-Who doesn't seem to have noticed. Anthony whirls around again to see the crowd _—_ it hits him in a moment that everyone in the Hall right now is either badly wounded or one of their few precious Healers, and Anthony chases the crowd inside.

* * *

  _And ultimately he died thus, alone;_  
_But they said he had courage_.

* * *

Hannah is bloodstained and grimy, and she tells Michael kindly that they need to move him.

Michael has made a good number of pathetic noises and faces in his life, but if the face matches the whimper, this one surpasses the rest. He is grateful to fall unconscious.

* * *

Anthony is duelling a couple of the Death Eaters when he's hit full in the face with a red blast- his first thought is _fuck,_ but his second is _red._ He's not aware when he falls.

* * *

Terry had been helping with the wounded but there are a dozen or so Hogsmeade residents there now doing a better job than he was doing, so he's watching the only two duels still raging, mouth open.

Bellatrix Lestrange, fighting Ginny, Hermione, and Luna all at once, and You-Know-Who fighting McGonagall, Slughorn, and one of the Order.

Terry has never seen him before, never even heard descriptions of him. He's both human and not, the way the werewolf who'd clawed him open had been, and he's clearly enough to fight the other three _—_ McGonagall shoots a stream of fire and there's a yell from someone else.

“Not my daughter, you _bitch!_ ”

He spins, and it's a redheaded woman, charging at Lestrange. Luna, Hermione, and Ginny dive out of the way, and then the Bellatrix Lestrange is dueling again. He looks from one duel to another, feels something press hard onto his side _—_ he looks down and it's Natalie McDonald, face white with terror _—_ he looks back up.

“You will never touch our children again!” the woman is shrieking _—_ he realises she must be a Weasley _—_ and then the spell hits Lestrange and she falls, eyes bulging in shock, and Terry flinches backward and there's a dreadful scream _—_

* * *

Anthony comes to with someone's wand in his face; he flinches and scrambles. “Oh, you're alive,” says Stephen Cornfoot. “Sorry, I kind of stepped on you.”

“Steve,” he says, somewhat stupidly, as Stephen stands up. “You _—_ ”

Stephen helps him to his feet. Anthony shakes his head to clear it and notices Harry Potter and You-Know-Who are circling each other in the centre of the room.

“I thought he was dead,” he whispers.

“We all thought You-Know-Who was, too, seventeen years back,” Stephen whispers back.

“Touché,” Anthony mutters.

The confrontation continues in the middle- Harry is almost goading You-Know-Who, taunting him. “He was cleverer than you,” he says. “A better wizard. A better man _—_ ”

“I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!” screeches You-Know-Who, and Anthony winces.

“You thought you did, but you were wrong,” says Harry.

“Dumbledore is dead!” says You-Know-Who triumphantly. “His body decays in a marble tomb on the grounds of this castle- I have seen it, Potter, and he will not return!”

They circle and circle and circle.

* * *

“Severus Snape wasn't yours,” says Harry Potter.

Terry looks in shock at Hannah Abbott, who stares back, eyes wide in confusion. Snape was _Dumbledore's—_ but he'd killed him, he'd ordered Michael's torture, let the Carrows terrorise the school, stood by while students disappeared in the middle of the night for their families' crimes _—_

“Snape was Dumbledore's, Dumbledore's from the moment you started hunting down my mother, and you never knew it, because of the thing you don't understand,” says Harry, and Terry's brain makes a dim connection _—_ Snape and Harry Potter's mother? He hates to assume things, but You-Know-Who has already mentioned _love_ as Dumbledore's solution, as the secret that was supposed to protect Harry _—_

“You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?” Harry says, and, just like all of Snape's questions to the students this year hadn't quite been questions, this isn't one either.

“Snape's Patronus was a doe,” says Harry, when You-Know-Who doesn't answer. “The same as my mother's, because he loved her _—_ ”

Terry congratulates himself on the leap of logic instead of listening to the rest, because he can't imagine Snape in love and doesn't want to. It's easier to hate him then, and Terry wants to keep hating Snape the way he does now, for his own sake. He turns his back on Harry and You-Know-Who, goes into the lines of the wounded and spots Michael for the first time, lying between Mandy and Romilda Vane. His legs a ripped and ashy and shriveled mess.

“Oh Mike,” he says.

* * *

He wakes up to Terry kneeling over him.

“Terry,” says Michael, grabbing Terry's sleeve. “What is happening _—”_

“Harry's alive,” says Terry. “And Snape was _supposedly_ on Dumbledore's side all along.”

“It's not funny _,_ ” says Michael.

“I swear I'm not trying to be funny,” says Terry. He looks down at Michael's legs.

* * *

“So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?” says Harry, his voice lowered a bit. Anthony barely dares to breathe. “Does the wand in your hand know that its last owner was Disarmed? Because if it does,” and he pauses, smiles slightly. Anthony takes a deep breath.

“I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”

There's a slight pause, and then sunlight streams in through the broken windows. Anthony takes his eyes off the confrontation and watches the sky streak golden and in the next moment they strike.

He looks back again in time to watch You-Know-Who fall backwards, face frozen in surprise, and Harry jumps a bit back to catch the wand _—_

It's over, and Voldemort is dead.

* * *

[Poem: _There were many who went in huddled procession,_ Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading.]


	15. Impossible Distances

“You going back?” asks Terry. He and Anthony are sitting on either side of a chessboard at Anthony's house. The game is set up, but neither of them have moved a piece. Maybe they feel honour-bound not to.

“I don't know,” says Anthony. “I don't know what I want to do with my life, I'd need to work that out first.”

“I might,” says Terry. “They're offering DA the Aurors, you know.”

“Are they?” says Anthony. He doubts they're offering it to all the DA.

“Yeah,” says Terry, half snorting.. “But I'm not going to work for the government.”

“Right,” says Anthony. Terry has a very strict dislike of authority. The Carrows, he suspects, have only compounded it.

They stare at the chessboard, but they don't play.

"Michael said he wouldn't go back if they paid him," says Terry.

Anthony looks down, unsurprised.

"Wish they'd pay me," says Terry.

* * *

  _here was set before me a mighty hill,_  
_And long days I climbed_  
_Through regions of snow._

* * *

“You need to get out more,” says his mother. “Your sister asks for you.”

“I'm fine,” mumbles Michael.

“The chickens miss you,” she says.

“I can't even walk into the coop,” he says. He's facing away from the window, but he can see the bright rectangle that forms on the wall when she opens it. “Close it, please.”

“Your father says that Hogwarts is sending booklists soon,” she says. “You have the option of repeating the year.”

“I'm not going back to Hogwarts.” There's no _chance._ Not in hell. Not with magic fucking staircases and him in prostheses and a chair.

“You need to get a job, then,” says his mother, and she squeezes his shoulder. “This isn't healthy. You need to do things.”

“Yeah,” says Michael. “Close the window, please.”

* * *

“Terry,” says Hannah. He's sitting with his back to the door, trying his hand at Anthony's old sport of shooting Charmed birds. He turns around. His aim is shitty. He doesn't really care enough about the birds to want to continue.

“Hi, Hannah.”

“Are you alright?” she asks, coming into the room. The desks are knocked over and broken. Nobody's bothered to straighten out classrooms yet.

“Yeah,” says Terry, but there are probably tear tracks on his face and his voice is quite clearly cracking, and he doesn't blame her for raising her eyebrows skeptically. She picks up a desk, standing it upright. Puts it next to his and perches herself on the desk.

He sighs. “Makes you wonder, right? When it's all gonna finally be over. We pretend it is and then we find new bodies, or there's another Death Eater sighting _—_ ”

The last one had been Yaxley, sighted in Cambridge.

“Yeah,” says Hannah. “Not much we can do.”

“When Kingsley asked if I wanted to join the Aurors, I laughed,” confesses Terry. “But every day there's _more_ falling apart and the Ministry can't _do_ anything _real—_ ”

“I know,” says Hannah.

* * *

It's a long row; Michael's unwilling to get yelled at when he's lying in bed, so he gets himself into his chair for the first time since he'd been taken out of the hospital. He has prosthetic legs, but they're uncomfortable and he can't use them until he's started physical therapy, something he has no intention of doing, so he sits legless in his goddamn chair and doesn't look at either of his parents.

His father yells, tells him he can't sit around moping and pitying himself, tells him he didn't raise him to be pathetic. His mother speaks reasonably but says essentially the same thing.

Michael snaps back at them, just once, says that he won't be made out as the coward when they hadn't done _shit_ all year. His father has to crouch down to smack him and there's a frozen moment while Michael touches his face and his mother sighs.

It's hilarious how effective that is. Michael had marched into a battle and shot a Stunner at Bellatrix Lestrange, had been tortured brutally and horribly, and yet this almost shuts him up. Almost. 

“Fine,” he says finally, viciously. “I might as well commit to being the only one in this family with a spine.”

He spins his chair and gets out of the kitchen as fast as he can.

* * *

_When I had before me the summit-view,_  
_It seemed that my labour  
Had been to see gardens_

* * *

“You know,” says Anthony, while Terry is doing pushups, “I distinctly recall you saying you'd never work for the government.”

“Times change,” huffs Terry, who's more bothered with the exercise than with Anthony. His chest is throbbing; he wonders, not for the first time, if he should have a Healer look at it to see if, during the frenzy of the battle, it'd been healed improperly. Lavender Brown had been attacked by the same werewolf and she was still laid up in hospital- almost certainly he should be, too.

“This isn't a job I'd ever expected you to go after,” says Anthony, who has never shut up in his life. “And you said that a month ago, times don't usually change that fast.”

Terry pushes himself into one hand and uses the other to flip Anthony off; Anthony laughs and Terry returns to his exercise. “It's not about the government,” he says. “It's about what's right, the Aurors need help if they're ever gonna get this society better.”

“Why do they need you to risk your neck?” says Anthony. “Leave it for Gryffindors.”

“Can't,” Terry says. "They get snobby." He pauses in his pushups to glance up at Anthony, who's sitting crosslegged in an armchair. "Come on, Tony. You mouthed off to the Carrows all year-"

“I just don't see how after last year you want to keep doing that all,” says Anthony, a hint of annoyance tinging his voice. “After the Battle and what happened to your chest _—_ that gives me nightmares, Terry _—_ we're done! We don't have to fight anymore! The war's over!"

“I know that,” says Terry, and he drops his knees and pushes himself up into a kneeling position to look at Anthony. He does; he'd expressed the same sentiment to Hannah. His parents had expressed the same sentiment to him- haven't the DA done enough already? He absently presses the flat of his hand into his chest over his scar. They have, for sure. They've done more than enough.

But the Aurors are struggling, and Terry has the skillset and a very good grasp on Healing, a bonus for the field. “It's only temporary anyway, only until they get the last Death Eaters rounded up.”

“I just,” says Anthony. “It's dangerous.”

“I've done dangerous things before,” says Terry. “Come on.”

“Smoking hash on top of the Astronomy Tower isn't dangerous,” says Anthony stubbornly. Terry snorts and rolls his eyes, then starts setting up to continue pushups. Anthony watches him, sighs.

“At least check out your chest,” he says. “See a Healer. You're in pain. Don't deny it.”

Terry nods and restarts his workout.

* * *

“Terry said you weren't coming back,” says Anthony.

“Yeah, so did I,” mumbles Michael, who's staring at the train, face unreadable.

“Right,” says Anthony.

Michael sighs.

* * *

His is the first name called, of the newest recruits- Teiresius Boot. He raises his hand to announce that he is, indeed, here, and adds, his hand still in the air, “You can call me Terry, and it's pronounced 'Butt'.”

The Auror gives him a very unimpressed look and moves on. Padma Patil pokes him hard in the back and whispers “Haven't changed a bit, have you?” into his ear.

* * *

Michael hasn't been back in the Great Hall since the Battle; before that, he hadn't been there since he'd been tortured there. By November, he's stopped feeling like vomiting when he's there, but it still makes him break into a sweat and breathe irregularly. He skips meals, until Anthony catches on and starts bringing him food.

He gets Side-Along Apparated to St. Mungo's twice a week for physical therapy. It's miserable and he hates how much time it takes, but he starts to figure out how to walk, albeit only with crutches and a good dose of pain potion.

He spends a lot of time in the Room. Or the library. He'd never been tortured in the library.

In December, Madam Pince drops a stack of books in front of him. “You're not doing anything, you can help me shelve,” she says.

“I am doing anything,” says Michael. He had been staring at a book without comprehending any of it, and had been quite content doing so. “I have a quiz.”

She raises her eyebrow. “On that?”

He looks more critically at the book. It is a book of knitting patterns; Michael glances guiltily up at Madam Pince, who is almost smiling. He’d always considered her a joyless old bat, so this is odd.

“How do you shelve them?” he says.

* * *

_Lying at impossible distances._

* * *

“It might be cathartic, mate,” says Terry, when the three of them reunite over the holiday. He and Anthony are playing chess- Anthony says he spent the entire term trying to get better at it, but he's still losing. Michael is stretched out on the Boots' sofa watching them.

Michael has been approached by an attorney, to see if he is interested in testifying against the Carrows.

He is not interested.

“I'd cry in front of the entire Wizengamot,” says Michael. He clasps his hands in mock celebration. “Ah, catharsis.”

 

They are sober for a moment, and then Anthony adds with false cheer, “It'd get you out of a few days of school.”

“Because I should miss _more_ school than I already do,” says Michael, who is mostly determined to be contrary. He would not be missing as much school as he does if he were not blowing off his classes, and he knows that's his own fault.

“Suit yourself,” mumbles Anthony.

Terry, who suspects that they'll get snippy if he doesn't, changes the subject. “Does it ever suddenly hit you how close we all came to dying virgins?”

“No,” says Michael, who isn't a virgin, circa autumn 1996, which Terry should know damn well because it'd been Terry he'd told first.

Anthony, who is still very much a virgin, decides firmly that this isn't a subject he is very interested in pursuing. “Terry, it's your turn.”

“Ooh, touchy,” says Terry, but he moves his queen. “You're gonna lose, Tony.”

“You are,” says Michael helpfully. Anthony sighs dramatically and shakes his head.

“I just meant,” says Terry, “If you wanted to testify, it'd help put them in jail, which will be _very_ satisfying.”

“Well, we can throw a party when they get sentenced and get blackout drunk,” says Michael.

“No,” Terry and Anthony say in unison. They've both seen Michael that drunk. It's best avoided. Of the three of them, the only one really capable of heavy drinking is Anthony.

“I'll testify if you guys go,” says Michael after a moment. “And if you help me write it.”

“No,” says Anthony automatically. Michael and Terry feed off of each others' terrible senses of humour. “Michael...”

“It's a deal,” says Terry, grinning.

* * *

Sometimes Terry watches the other DA members in the Aurors and thinks that he's lucky. Luckier than Neville, for sure. Neville and Seamus both. Luckier than Megan who'd been sent to Azkaban. Luckier than Padma, even.

It's not that he wishes he was less lucky. It's not that he wishes he'd been messed up as badly as Seamus or Michael or really any of the DA right now. It's that he can't shake the feeling that he's done so much less than a lot of the DA.

Michael had saved that first year. Neville had led an underground rebellion. Padma and Anthony had gotten Cruciated for their roles as Prefects. Terry?

Terry had given one speech about one Gryffindor doing Gryffindor bullshit. Terry had gone to one party. Terry had popped off one stupid joke.

So, no. It's not that he hates his luck. It's that months ago, he'd thrown the word _coward_ in Michael's face because it was what Mike hated the most about himself. It's that when it comes down to it, he's the coward. Not Michael. Never Michael.

* * *

Anthony finds himself sitting with Hermione Granger at breakfast one day. Different Houses, but the teachers are far more likely to ignore that these days. In a better world, thinks Anthony, he and Hermione would have been Head Boy and Girl, and they'd have graduated already.

“You were there, last year, right?” says Hermione. Anthony grins. It's not a real smile.

“Regrettably so.”

“I've asked Ginny,” says Hermione. They glance over to where Ginny, Luna, and Hannah are sitting together. Luna's laughing, Ginny's grinning wide, Hannah's beaming through her hands. “She doesn't talk about it, not much. But I want to know.”

Anthony folds his hands under his chin and presses his lips together and contemplates talking about it, then _oh, hang it_.

“You see that girl?” he says, nodding towards Romilda Vane, who's sitting with Vicky Frobisher and the Montgomery sisters. “Her name is Ro, and she was Cruciated at the front of this room in front of everyone. Jimmy _—_ ” He glances upwards at Jimmy Peakes, whose head is askew and whose limbs are bent in all the wrong ways and who still sits at the table with Dennis Creevey, even as a ghost. “Got beaten once in the third floor corridor and me and Zacharias Smith had to carry him to the Hospital Wing. He was two days away from his fifteenth birthday.”

Hermione closes her eyes and Anthony continues, unable to stop himself now. “Eleanor got _kidnapped_ over Easter holiday. Jake Hoang got tied to a table and Cruciated and they only stopped because he broke the table. He was being punished for having a Skiving Snackbox in his trunk.”

Terry had felt awful about that; he'd offered, that night, to teach Jake how to hide things that ought to be hidden. Jake had looked back at him with guarded eyes and said he'd thrown it all out.

“There were bigger things,” whispers Hermione, both defensive and guilty. “We had a mission too.”

“Yeah,” says Anthony. “I understand.”

* * *

Michael finds Terry and Anthony in the row of spectators. There are more than he'd expected there to be- seems that a lot of people want to see Amycus sent to Azkaban. Which makes him nervous, though it's not like he hasn't already cried in front of most of them. She asks his name and address. She asks him about the school. His first Cruciatus. His last Cruciatus.

It had been the most hellish experience of his life, including when he'd actually been set on fire. It's difficult to describe. He doesn't look at Terry or Anthony when he's talking. He doesn't look at anyone, really. And he doesn't cry.

But he looks the attorney dead in the eye when she asks him how the curse felt. Says, “It was long and hard and sticky, at the end.”

He doesn't look at Terry or Anthony.

* * *

Anthony isn't particularly fond of alcohol, but he's in a buoyant mood today, and so he pours them all generous glasses of firewhiskey. Terry raises his glass and elbows Michael until he does the same. “To two guilty verdicts and life in prison for both!” It crosses the thin line between celebratory and grim; they all know what Azkaban is, and they all feel vaguely guilty, celebrating like this.

“To not crying during testimony,” suggests Michael. “To the best joke I've ever pulled off, better by far than any of yours.”

“Yes, that too,” says Terry, grinning. “To the end of Auror initiation, thank God _—_ ”

“To the fortunate coincidence of the trial and the initiation,” says Anthony dryly, “so we can have one night out, and I don't have to deal with your drunk arses on two separate occasions.”

“Don't be so sure,” says Terry. “My birthday's coming up _—_ ”

“In a _month,_ ” says Anthony, already dreading it.

“To the great month of February,” interrupts Michael. “Became it's _short_ and Terry's birthday is _really_ soon and we can all get smashed.”

“To Tony's mediocre music that he insisted we play,” adds Terry. Anthony glares and taps Terry's glass with his own.

“To my idiot friends,” he says. “And to my regret in the morning when you're both messes and I'm too hungover to cope with it.”

“I'll drink to that,” says Michael cheerfully, and takes a swig.

* * *

[Poem: _There was set before me a mighty hill,_ Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading!]


	16. Tell Brave Deeds Of War

“You know,” says Madam Pince. “For someone who hates when I ask you to do the library work, you sure do come in a lot.”

“I like the library, not the work,” says Michael.

“You know,” she says, and leans over the counter as he hands in a book on genetic composition and behaviour of Kneazles. “I'm getting old.”

Michael glances awkwardly away. “Er, I'm, not gonna comment,” he says, because his mother has drilled common courtesy into him.

“I'll be retiring,” she says. “And I'll need to take on an apprentice before then.”

Michael goes very still except for one hand still fidgeting on the kneazle book. “Are you _—_ ”

“Yes,” she says.

* * *

The first time Terry arrests someone, it's a man who's been selling illegal potions out of his basement. The second time, it's a Death Eater named Travers. Terry's assigned to work with a senior Auror named Solomon Dobbs; he knows the man's daughter- fourth year Puff, had fractured a kneecap once in detention and Terry had fixed it- but he doesn't tell Dobbs that. Because Emma Dobbs is dead and Terry had watched Neville carry her into the Hall.

The first time Michael goes out with Susan Bones, it's to sit on the lawn outside the greenhouses with yarn and needles, and she takes her shoes off and he takes his legs off and she kisses him. They're just two nineteen year olds, just two teenagers kissing on the grass. Nothing particularly permanent or decided about it, he thinks to himself, and he's comforted by it. He doesn't need to make any decisions right now.

The first time Anthony cries after the Battle is a full year later, when what's left of the DA (and its ghosts) ditches school and crowds into Augusta Longbottom's parlor and sits together and tells stories about a teenage towhead with a camera, about a boy who lived, died, and lived again, about an army of children.

* * *

  _“Tell brave deeds of war.”_

* * *

Terry moves into an apartment with Megan Jones. They have never gotten along- he's too tempted to make fun of Meg and her pedantic nature, and she is in turn inclined to insult him devastatingly and accurately- but they have gotten over the _Incident_ that had landed both of them into detention in fourth year, and they both needed a roommate and a place to stay.

It's a comfortable arrangement. Terry makes pain and sleep potions, because they both have chronic chest pain and nightmares, and he does the cooking, since it's basically Potions but with less interesting vegetables. Meg does the rent and the utilities and the paperwork, Terry handles the landlord when he comes calling about the funny smells. Meg buys Floo powder. Terry buys magazine subscriptions.

“I sometimes think,” says Terry, when they're sitting with bottles of Muggle beer and listening to obnoxious rock music, “that it could be easier to just go live as a Muggle. You know? No blood status, no Dark wizards, no Death Eaters still on the run.”

Meg shrugs. “Yeah, it's tempting,” she says halfheartedly. “Except I have no clue how to do it.”

“Yeah,” says Terry. He shrugs. “I'm not pureblood, though. I'd have an idea how to operate. I could do it.”

“Wouldn't you miss it?” says Meg, and rubs absently at the scar just over her breast from questioning in Azkaban. “The magic.”

They are both wearing tank tops and underwear, even in the chill- it's refreshing, sometimes, to just strip off where nobody will stare at their scars. Terry's hair is buzzed short for the Aurors- when he goes out, he wears a hat, because a burn on his scalp left him with a large bald patch behind his right ear.

“What would I miss?” says Terry.

* * *

“And _this_ time,” says Terry, “here's to our items of celebration being at different times, so it's guaranteed that Tony's dealing with our drunk arses on two different occasions this month.”

Anthony groans, rubbing at his temples. “I hate you both.”

“Here's to Terry's singing when he's drunk,” says Michael, “because I'm ninety percent sure that's why Anthony's all bothered.”

Terry grins. “Is it?” he says. He hums a few notes to himself; Anthony sends Michael a dismayed look.

“Look what you've done,” he says. Michael shrugs, not sorry at all, and Anthony sighs and raises his glass. “Well, here's to Michael having a career option and to Hogwarts graduation.”

Michael grins and raises his own in response. “Yeah, here's to my future as a librarian, Merlin help me _—_ ”

“And to my own unemployment,” continues Anthony.

“And to this wonderful, beautiful liquor,” says Terry. “Thank you and God bless you, Anthony _—_ ”

Anthony glances at Michael. “I already regret it,” he promises.

* * *

_Then they recounted tales, -_

* * *

His parents hover around him when he's at home and his brother and sister are distant, as though something changed irrevocably when Anthony had lost his left eye and too many children he'd felt responsible for, a whole year and two months ago. Now he's just not the same brother to them anymore. He doesn't mind _—_ they've always been closer to each other than to him. He visits Michael and feeds the chickens and bitches about the Ministry with him, he visits Terry and they sit on his fire escape and drink.

Anthony is utterly purposeless, which is baffling. Three years ago when Flitwick (accompanied, regrettably, by Umbridge) had asked them all what they wanted to be when they grew up, it'd been Anthony who'd made a list of potential jobs, the skill and education he'd need for them, and the benefits of each career.

Michael had gone in and said he wanted to be a porn star, mostly for Umbridge's benefit. He'd gotten a detention; he'd come back with his hand red and sore and said, completely seriously, that it'd been worth it for Umbridge's face.

Terry had said he wanted to do something with Potions. Something legal, he'd added, and, according to the story, Flitwick had laughed and Umbridge had made so many awful little fake coughs that she'd choked on one and made a real cough.

Anthony is dreadful at Potions. And he's not attractive enough for Michael's option. (And neither is Michael.)

Once, he'd thought about accounting, about working at Gringotts, about a position in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, undoing accidental magic and fixing others' mistakes and problem solving. Experimental Charm Development- he'd done okay in Ancient Runes.

“It's all pointless anyway,” he says, flopped back on Michael's bed. “Who needs to make a livelihood?” Michael, sitting at his desk, shrugs.

“What's wrong with Accidents and Catastrophes?” he says. He's writing a dissertation on Muggle library filing systems and how they can be applied to the Hogwarts library for ease of navigation, or something equally pretentious sounding. “Asides from their being catastrophes,” he adds as an aside.

“Nothing, really,” says Anthony. “I just don't wanna do it.”

“You gave it eight out of ten possible stars in your list in fifth year,” says Michael, then puts his quill in his mouth and sucks on it.

“I dunno,” says Anthony. He conjures a bird from his wand; at the chittering sound, Michael's head snaps up; he twists his torso around to point threateningly at Anthony, who raises his hands slightly in surrender.

“If you dare explode that in here, your head goes the same way as the bird,” Michael says threateningly. “Let it out the window.”

Anthony gets up and lets the bird out. He watches it flit away and sighs, then flops back on the bed. “That bird has a better future than me,” he laments.

“It's Charmed, it won't be fast enough or smart enough to evade predators,” says Michael. He fusses with his hair- he hasn't gotten a haircut since trimming the singed bits after the Battle, and his customary haircut is now more fringey. “What do you like to do?”

“I dunno,” says Anthony, staring out the window and wondering how far away the bird could make it.

* * *

Terry is an Auror, so he shouldn't be smoking anything illegal.

But he's also itchy for an hour to just sit and not feel the weight of his job and his friends and everything from That Year pressing into his chest, so he locks himself in his room and smokes and thinks about the one time Michael (not Anthony, never Anthony _—_ Anthony was responsible) had joined him. He'd coughed up a storm. Terry had laughed.

He pets his cat and sighs _—_ it sometimes hits him what an ironic world it is, that Terry's cat, a crotchety old thing with no regard for anyone, could have lived through the Battle when so many people, so many _kids_ , couldn't. It's ironic in the worst way.

Terry, a long time ago, had appreciated irony.

He laughs, because that's ironic too.

Ironic, that the son of two criminals is in law enforcement. Ironic, that he'd been hurt the _least_ of his friends over that hellish year and still cries over the few experiences as though he's really suffered at all. Ironic, that he's always always always been the one of his friends to crack the jokes and make people smile and to never take anything seriously when these days he's an emotionless cop by day and a sobbing mess by night.

His chest hurts, a brief but strong twinge of pain, and something furious builds up in him. He throws his pillow at the wall.

Meg comes in then, looks at the scene _—_ discarded joint still burning on the bedsheets, scared cat in the corner, Terry crying like a fucking twat _—_ and she takes the joint. Vanishes it. Sits next to him and puts her arms around him and lets him cry into her shoulder.

“They barely tortured me,” he chokes. “Six or seven times at the _most_ and I'm here crying when it wasn't even  _close_ to some of the things that happened.”

“You fought in the Battle,” says Megan. “I didn't do that.”

“You spent a month in Azkaban,” he says.

“And Luna spent four months living in a house with Bellatrix,” she counters, and closes her eyes. “Merlin, Terry, don't tell me that Hogwarts wasn't so bad. It was all bad.” Terry can't respond through the choking tears; he buries his face in his hands and she wraps her arms tightly around him.

Maybe this is ironic too _—_ that Megan, who had been in Azkaban for the whole of April, understands better than anyone what Terry feels about Hogwarts.

* * *

_“There were stern stands_  
_And bitter runs for glory._ ”

* * *

“I'm a cashier,” says Anthony, and drops his bookbag onto Terry's desk. Terry does not immediately respond and Anthony must feel the need to bother him until he does. “A cashier. Terry. I'm a cashier.”

“Cool,” says Terry, to shut him up. He is listless and unhappy. “Meg told me I can't smoke anymore,” he adds, when Anthony frowns at him. “Said if she came home and I was smoking, she'd arrest me.”

"It's illegal," Anthony says.

“Yeah,” says Terry, and he sighs.

They Apparate to the Hog's Head; Aberforth, cleaning a mug at the counter, raises his eyebrows. “It's Mr. No-Pork,” he says. “And Terry, I don't think you ever came to the pub.”

“No, sir,” says Terry. “I stayed out of trouble.”

“Isn't that ironic?” says Aberforth, and chuckles, then Summons them two butterbeers and a small basket of chips. 

“He knows my parents,” says Terry in an undertone, when they're sitting far away from the bar. “They used his pub to sell nicked Charmed shit.”

“Oh,” says Anthony. He covers up the awkwardness of the reminder that Terry's parents are smugglers by taking a drink of butterbeer.

“So where are you cashier?” Terry asks.

“Diagon Alley,” says Anthony. “The Magical Menagerie.”

“I seem to recall you _hating_ pets,” says Terry. “Absolutely despising them. Abhorring them.”

“Only yours,” says Anthony, and grins. Terry’s cat, named Marx, dislikes Michael and Anthony. The running theory is that it’s because they are neither socialist nor proletariat, like Terry.

“Sure,” says Terry. “Sure. Well, it's a job.”

“Yeah,” says Anthony. “And who knows? I may like it.”

“Yeah,” says Terry.

* * *

_Ah, I think there were braver deeds._

* * *

They've long since accepted that trying to get together at the Goldstein's house means that Anthony's parents hover around them, asking Michael about his girlfriend, asking Terry about his job, asking all three of them about their futures.

Terry hates having them at his place too, because it's cluttered and small and because his parents try to be cool.

They end up in Michael's bedroom, which is also cluttered and small, but Michael's parents don't bother them, which is really all they care about.

Terry brought his chessboard, for old times' sake, and they set up a game on the floor. It's a bit crowded, but they cram in.

“Are you ready to be crushed?” says Terry, cracking his knuckles. Michael winces at the sound.

“Remember you're outnumbered,” he says dryly.

They settle in and start the game. Anthony and Michael have just claimed Terry's knight when the door creeps open and Lauren comes in. “I brought Fang and Lucille,” she says.

“The chickens stay outside, Lauren _—_ ” Michael tries to say.

“Terry brought one in once,” she protests.

“We don't try to emulate Terry,” says Michael. “Get out.”

“Why?” says Lauren, and looks at Terry. “He's smart.”

Terry laughs. “No, I'm not. Did Mike tell you about the time I blew up a cauldron trying to make a better cough potion?”

“Did you?” she says, fascinated.

“He did. It stunk up our room,” says Michael. "Get _—_  "

Anthony gives Michael a dubious look. “Michael, if anyone _—_ _anyone—_ was stinking up the room _—_  ”

“Wanna join us?” says Terry.

“No,” says Michael.

“Yes,” says Lauren. Michael groans.

Lauren sits down and Michael takes Fang.

“I think you're smart. You were in the war,” she says, matter-of-fact. “Mum says you were all heroes.”

Michael, who hadn't been aware his mum talked about that with Lauren, frowns slightly and pets the chicken in his lap. His parents are fast to call him a hero; he hates it. For most of his life they'd been quick to condemn him for every heroic trait he'd showed.

“We aren't really,” says Terry. “We're just a lot of young, stupid people who tried to keep it together in a war. If you want heroes, you can go to Gryffindor.”

“I think you were all heroes,” says Lauren. “You fought for what was right.”

Anthony shakes his head. For Anthony, _hero_ calls to mind glorious saviours and noble soldiers and clean, beautiful morality. They'd all Cruciated other students. They'd all done the same things the rest of the DA had. They aren't anything special.

Terry puts a hand on Lauren's curly head. “You'll grow up,” he says. “And you'll understand. It's not always about bravery.”

* * *

[Poem: _Tell brave deeds of war,_ Stephen Crane. Thank you so much for reading! It's been a fun ride and I hope you enjoyed it, and I'm so thankful for all the comments and advice I got along the way. Until next time!]


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